


The Long Way Back To You

by Pendragons Dragonlord (PseudoAuthor)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Arthur voices my opinions on current children's TV programs, Arthur-centric, Depression, Divorce, Gen, Lancelot/Gwen - Freeform, Leon/Morgana - Freeform, Like cake, M/M, Marriage, Multi, Multiple slices of life, Nice Uther, Or pizza, Pining Arthur, Reconciliation, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Uther and Hunith are BFFs, like glacially paced slow burn, perwaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 05:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9307364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoAuthor/pseuds/Pendragons%20Dragonlord
Summary: Wordlessly, Arthur hands the blue pen over and watches misty-eyed as Merlin leans forward and opens up the pages. Merlin scans through the first few lines and Arthur waits with baited breath as he finds the one tagged with a little red flag.Merlin's hands are shaking."Arthur, I'm so sorry."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be my entry for ACBB 2015 - there's a long drawn out story somewhere in there (things going wrong, muse taking flight, no time, illness) but I won't go into it...but to everyone who helped this along, those who took the time to read/beta it (Cricket, Pan - massive hugs to you both for everything!), to the peeps in Chatzy and on Hangouts who were kind enough to let me complain and freak out and just be all scream-y, you rock). 
> 
> To my artist who unfortunately had other commitments and fell out of the groove with this - you have my best wishes - hopefully one day in the future we can try again :) I had two people beta-ing this way way early back in 2015 but I don't remember who, so drop a line and let me know so I can credit/thank you properly, because I really do want to thank you. 
> 
> Any other mistakes are my own - if you want to say hi or chat about anything you can find me at pseudoauthor1@tumblr.com
> 
> On to the story...

> _“I'm aware that couples tend to embellish 'how we met' folklore with all kinds of detail and significance. We shape and sentimentalise these first encounters into creation myths to reassure ourselves and our offspring that it was somehow 'meant to be'.”_
> 
> _― David Nicholls, Us_

**January 1982**

They meet on a cold, wintery Saturday afternoon in a building filled with bright colours, odd shapes, and weird creatures plastered on the wall.

Just outside the main room of the play group, a woman wanders toward the couch. A man in expensive trousers and a tailored green shirt is already seated on the left-hand side. He is talking to his son but takes a moment to smile warmly at her and shifts over, allowing her to sit.

Gratefully, she sinks onto the couch, sleep deprived from having her son cry all night for no apparent reason.

"Are you alright?" he asks. He catches the fist that aims wildly for his chin and traps said fist against a slightly bulging belly that’s covered in blue cotton and dribble.

She chuckles deprecatingly and begins unwrapping her precious bundle of his multiple layers. His stripy beanie is the first to come off. The man laughs as the child looks headless considering the yards of scarf wrapped around his neck.

The woman begins working on the scarf. "This one was giving me trouble. He didn’t want to sleep last night so he’s been cranky." The brunet boy stares at the man, wide-eyed and innocent, his hair flat on the top his head and curling around his ears.

The man winces in sympathy and looks down at his own blond child who tips his head back. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think there's a difference once they get older."

"Brilliant," she says with a fake sigh. "I'm Hunith, and this is Merlin."

At the mention of his name, Merlin looks up at his mother and hits her cheek.

"Uther." He nods. "Nice to meet you. This is Arthur." Arthur waves with brown, sticky fingers that match the outside of his lips. The remnants of a chocolate bar fall onto the floor.

Hunith watches quietly as Arthur looks over Uther’s arm to his fallen treat. “Da!” Uther looks down at Arthur who strains to get free. Chubby legs begin to pinwheel and arms stretch toward the floor like a diver. Uther leans down and picks up the chocolate bar. Arthur stops moving, his blue eyes watching carefully, tracking his precious prize. He opens his mouth and a palm in wait.

There’s a bit of lint sticking to the chocolate. Uther frowns and quickly dances his hand across Arthur’s stomach in hopes of distracting him. “Sorry, not a chance son.”

“Choc!” Arthur insists. _At least he hasn’t started with the ‘no’s’_ , Uther thinks, remembering chapters of child rearing books describing the terrible-twos. He knows that will soon change. Arthur is two – it’s inevitable, but right now. Arthur is batting his hands against Uther’s fingers and Uther can’t help but place a kiss to the side of his blond hair.

The chocolate bar disappears into a bag. Arthur pouts. Merlin sneezes. Arthur forgets about the chocolate bar.

Arthur tries to wiggle closer to Merlin so Uther scoots closer to Hunith with a small smile as he watches his son.

“Hello, Merlin,” Uther says keeping his voice low. Arthur leans back into his chest.

Hunith kisses the top of Merlin’s head. “Merlin, say hello to Arthur." She waves Merlin's chubby fist at Arthur. Merlin burbles and grins openly. A solitary white tooth in an otherwise gummy mouth flashes like a lone beacon of light.

Arthur, still perched on Uther's lap peers intently at the raven-haired boy. He looks up once at his father and then to Merlin who blows out a snot bubble from his left nostril. Driven by curiosity, Arthur reaches out and pops it.

* * *

 

**August 1984**

“Arthur, I’m going to drop you and Morgana off at Hunith’s.”

Arthur tugs at his father’s ear because it’s weird. It feels funny in his fingers — it’s sort of squishy like Play-doh — but more importantly at that moment it’s right in front of his face. “Merlin!” he shouts.

Uther finishes buckling him into the car seat and pulls away rubbing his ear. “Yes, Merlin. Morgana! Come on, if you don’t hurry, I’m going to be late.”

Morgana runs out to the car, a purple bag clutched to her side. Arthur begins pulling faces at her through the window. She sticks her tongue out in retaliation. He’s just about to pull the sides of his mouth out and cross his eyes when she turns and gets into the seat in front of him. “Which one is it this time?” she asks.

Their father climbs in and starts the engine. “Morgana,” he sighs.

“Do we have to meet her?” she presses.

Arthur swings his feet, trying to kick the seat, but he frowns and huffs. His legs are too short. He wants to sit in the front, but Morgana keeps telling him that only big people are allowed to sit there. Babies sit in the car seat. He wants to shout that he isn’t a baby, but Morgana has told him that only babies shout, which is stupid because she shouts all the time. About everything.

“I’m not going to discuss this with you. Arthur, stop kicking.”

Morgana cranes around the side of the seat and smirks at him. He sends an especially powerful kick, hoping to hit her in the face. Of course, he misses.

“Arthur,” comes the soft growl of a warning.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts again, just because.

Morgana lets out a laugh and turns to look at their father. Arthur looks out at the window, staring as all the cars whizz by. He opens his mouth again but finds himself beaten. “I know. I know. Arthur, I’m turning the radio on.”

Strains of the zombie song reach his ears, and he sits up in his seat, drawing in a big breath, waiting for where he can join in. “Cause this is thillaaaa…” He ignores Morgana’s groan and begins to sing at the top of his voice, his head bobbing in time with the music.

* * *

**April 1986**

“You’re my best friend.”

Arthur announces it one day in the middle of the sandpit. Merlin looks up at him, grinning shyly and hides his face behind his hands.

The other children look on uninterested. This isn’t news to them. This is not something you can dispute or claim to have no knowledge of. Even the most obtuse person in the world knows this fact.

Arthur, still in the centre of the sandpit, standing on a little hill he constructed just for this special declaration, looks at Merlin and crosses his arms. “You’re my best friend…and you can’t have anyone else.”

At this, the other children stop.

The spluttering vrooms of trucks and other motor vehicles slow to that of dying engines. The tea party comes to a close. Plastic plates drop to the ground; tea cups tip onto their sides, allowing water to spill out. The children stop and stare at Arthur on the hill, and then they move their gaze slowly to Merlin.

Merlin, who is wonderful and beamingly sunny, now sits stunned and absolutely devastated.

Arthur doesn’t understand what’s wrong.

Merlin gets up and, ignoring his sandy knees, fists his hands around the hem of his shirt, sniffling. “B-but, I like Will…and he’s my best friend, too.”

Arthur crosses his arms and huffs. He doesn’t like Will. Will is mean and slow and takes up too much of Merlin’s time. “No, you can’t have more than one best friend. Best, Merlin. It means your favourite-ist. I’m your one.”

Merlin looks around and spots Will on the playground. “Will-“

Arthur cuts him off with a sharp, “Merlin.” Merlin should be thrilled with his declaration.

Suddenly Merlin is no longer upset. He charges over and, before Arthur can even blink, pushes him down off his well-constructed and specially created hill into the boring, average, no-purpose-for-being-there sand. “I’m playing with Will,” he declares and stomps away.

Arthur, heels digging into his once-smooth hill, looks at Merlin walking off into the distance.

The other kids ignore him.

When Arthur returns home with sand still in his shorts, Uther sits him down and firmly explains why what he said was wrong.

Arthur bites his lip waiting to retort.

“Anything you want to say?” his father asks, giving him a pair of jeans to pull on.

Arthur continues to bite his lip worryingly. “If I let Merlin play with Will, can he still be my best friend?”

Uther nods, taking the sandy pair of shorts in hand. “Yes, Arthur, Merlin can still be your best friend.”

 _Okay, that’s all right,_ Arthur thinks. “Can I still be his even though he wants someone else?”

His father’s voice wafts through the corridor. “Yes, Arthur.”

Merlin and Arthur don’t talk for two days. Merlin because he’s angry, Arthur because he’s afraid of the fact that Merlin’s angry.

For Arthur, it’s a miserable two days. Arthur has friends in his class — sort of. He can talk to the other children, but they all have their own firm friendships that can’t seem to break to let someone else in. And it never bothered him before because he had Merlin but now…

Lunch times are lonely. Merlin used to chatter his ear off and drink his juice box because father always got him orange juice not matter how many times he asked for apple and blackcurrant.

On the third day, Arthur walks up to Merlin and Will at lunch and sits near them. Not close, just so he’s in the periphery of their vision.

Will notices him first. “What flavour crisps d’ya got?”

“Salt and vinegar,” Arthur says, looking at Merlin who takes a slow bite of his sandwich. Arthur wants to say sorry, he really does, but the words don’t seem to want to come out. He offers the bag in Will’s direction, hoping his actions will inspire Merlin’s forgiveness.

As Will doesn’t know of Arthur’s ulterior motive, he takes the whole packet and begins to systematically eat his way through it. Small pieces first it appears, although Arthur reckons Will’s fists are breaking the larger bits anyway. He despairs in Merlin’s choice of friend.

 _He_ would’ve searched for the folded ones first, because it’s double the crunch, then the large ones and then the ones that seem to have a bubble of air encased in them. Merlin just eats them.

The crinkle of the packet sounding reminds him he is currently crispless, and he sighs inwardly. He really liked salt and vinegar. He had hoped Merlin would recognise his sacrifice, but apparently Merlin hasn’t seen it or he has and he just doesn’t care.

Arthur doesn’t feel very hungry anymore. He opens his lunch box again and stares balefully at his jam sandwich. He can’t stop the crinkling of his nose as he spots the uncut crusts that remain on one edge of the bread. Gently he prods the centre of it and sees the jam squeeze out from the sides like goo.

On that day, in the schoolyard surrounded by children, he feels utterly alone. Or at least when he looks back on this moment, years from now, he will class that jam-pressing moment as the metaphor for his — up until then — relatively short life.

But for now, as a child, Arthur pokes the sandwich once more and rubs vigorously at his eyes. He can still hear Will happily munching away at his crisps, other children screaming and laughing, and Merlin shouting—

“—Arthur!” Arthur quickly raises his head as Merlin crawls over to him, face pinched in concern. “Are you okay?”

“’m fine,” he mumbles, shifting his gaze away.

“Where have you been?” Merlin asks. He reaches over Arthur’s knees and takes hold of his lunchbox. Arthur brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them just as Merlin admonishes him, saying, “You haven’t had your lunch!”

“Not hungry.”

Merlin disappears from his side.

A few moments later, a wad of foil is pushed into his line of vision. “Swapsies?” Arthur carefully rips away the foil and sees a slice of chocolate cake. “I’ll eat your sandwich.” As if to prove his point, Merlin tears into Arthur’s sandwich, ignoring the splat of jam that falls onto the concrete.

“Merls! I’m getting a drink,” Will shouts, running off to the drink taps.

It doesn’t feel right, just taking the cake. Arthur looks at Merlin and catalogues the jam-surrounded mouth that grins back at him. “It’s all right that you’re friends with him.”

Merlin huffs and crosses his legs. “I can be friends with whoever I want,” he pauses and then nudges Arthur’s knee with his own. “Eat the cake — it’s your favourite.” He takes another bite of the sandwich. “Orange juice?” he enquires after a moment of chewing. Arthur pulls it out from the pocket of his shorts and hands it over.

* * *

**October 1990**

“Arthur!”

With one arm wrapped securely around the mast, he points to a tiny island in the middle of the sea. “I see land!” Arthur shouts. He looks down to the deck of the ship and sees Merlin peering up at him with worried blue eyes.

Will, a little farther away from Merlin, shouts up at him. “Can you see land?”

“I just said ‘I see land,’ Will! Don’t you listen to anything?” He looks back out to sea and frowns. “I might need to go higher!”

Merlin’s voice comes out squeaky as he makes to reach up. “You’re already high enough!”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur carefully moves his feet and reaches above his head. He grips the branch above him tightly, his nails clawing into the wood. “Don’t be such a baby, Merlin! I’m not afraid of heights!” he calls down. He ignores the put-upon sigh Merlin delivers from several branches below him and ignores Will who stands still on the ground watching them both.

With his two hands securing the wood above him, Arthur puts his foot on the tree trunk and hauls himself up. He huffs when he doesn’t seem to be getting any higher and places his other foot on the trunk, too, but his foot slips, and in his surprise his hands unclench and he lets go.

“Arthur!”

He drops past Merlin, eyes shut tight, unwilling to meet the ground in such a presumptuous manner...until, he does indeed meet tanbark and dirt, face down with his arm trapped under him and the wind knocked right out of his lungs.

It takes a second for the pain to catch up to the situation. “Ow!” The feeling of fire and needles and Morgana stepping on his fingers rolls through his arm and into his shoulder. Arthur keeps his eyes closed and tries to breathe through the pain, but it’s so difficult when all he wants to do is scream until he’s blue in the face.

“Merlin, go get the teacher!” Will shouts.

“But I don’t want to leave…”

Arthur turns onto his side, hissing as tears escape his eyes. He opens them in time to see Merlin and Will looking at him even though they look like blurry shadows. “You can run faster. Hurry, or he’ll die.”

Merlin vanishes. And Arthur wants to shout at Will, knowing he’s probably just scarred Merlin for life.

He hopes that the, “That’s mean,” he squeezes out is enough to convey his anger.

Will just looks at him and shrugs. “He really is faster, and he’d try to move you. Mum said don’t touch.”

Arthur doesn’t point out that he just moved. “I’m not going to die, though?”

An uninterested glance flicks over him. “Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Pity.”

Arthur really does not understand why Merlin wants to be his friend. “Shut up, Will.”

Will’s mouth twists into a scowl. “Merlin’s not here, so I’ll say what I want.”

Arthur lets out a moan as he shifts he jostles his arm.

“Stay still, idiot.”

“Arthur!” Merlin falls to his knees, his eyes wet with tears. “Miss Johnson’s coming. Don’t die yet!”

He hears a very small snort, and then Merlin’s teacher hovers in his line of vision. “Merlin, sweetheart, Arthur’s not going to die. Miss Johnson’s pretty, blonde like his mother had been, but she’s got brown eyes instead of blue.

“But Will said-“ Merlin hiccups.

“William,” she admonishes.  

“I thought he might — I swear it.”

She runs her hands over his arm, adding pressure here and there and Arthur tries not to shout. “Arthur, is it just your arm that hurts?”

“It’s the worst.”

She frowns. “Okay, it might be broken. What were you doing?”

“Climbing trees. I told him it was too high. You should’ve listened to me!” Merlin shouts with his hands on his knees, slightly puffing from a shortness of breath.

“I’m going to sit you up now. And then we’ll get you standing and into sickbay — you’ll probably get to ride in an ambulance.” _Ohhh, that’d be cool,_ Arthur thinks, struggling to sit upright even with Miss Johnson’s support. 

“Aren’t you meant to ask him questions? How old are you? Do you know who I am? Do you like Coke-flavoured Chupa Chups?

“Merlin…” Miss Johnson chides softly.

“Arthur?”

“I’m ten. You’re annoying—“ He breaks off seeing the hurt flit across Merlin’s face. “You’re Merlin. And you like them. I like orange.”

When he comes back to school, all the kids gather around ready to sign his cast, but they find themselves sorely disappointed when they see Merlin’s name tattooed across it in large block letters. There’s a small sentence written above Merlin’s name, too.

_Arthur should always listen to…_

* * *

**March 1994**

“Hunith!” Arthur drops his bag onto the floor and kicks off his shoes.

He walks down the corridor of Merlin’s house and waits until he hears: “I’m in the kitchen, love!” Arthur crinkles his nose smelling an odd combination of spices and shudders slightly worried about what Merlin may be served for supper. Hunith bakes like a boss, but cooking… It’s no wonder Merlin is as skinny as a rake. “How was school?” she asks. The dishrag in her hand takes residence on her shoulder and the plate disappears into the cupboard above her head.

Arthur shrugs. “All right, I suppose.”

“Your father at home?”

He shakes his head. “With Leanne.” Leanne is not right. And he wants to say something to his father but…his father his happy and history has shown that she probably won’t stick around for long. _Oh god_ , he hopes she won’t stick around any longer.

There’s a brief look of disappointment or annoyance — he’s not really sure — that crosses Hunith’s face at the news before making way for a rueful smile and shake of her head. “One of these days I’ll get more than three words out of you — I swear it.”

Arthur allows his shoulders to slump in relief (despair). _Father is happy — that's all that matters_ , he reminds himself again. “Merlin upstairs?”

She nods. “Maybe you can convince him to go outside — run around? Get some vitamin D? Arthur, he’s doing all right isn’t he?”

He shrugs because bullies aren’t something that she can fix and disappears up the stairs.

“Merlin?” He knocks once and then walks in to see Merlin lying on his bed, head turned to the window. “You sleeping?” he whispers.

Merlin’s head jerks up, and he rises onto his elbows. “Nah. Just thinking and writing.” He moves over, letting Arthur crawl next to him.

He almost asks ‘what?’ but stops himself. “How was class?” Arthur says quietly once they’ve settled.

He feels Merlin’s shoulder shrug against him. “All right.”

Arthur has found that Merlin trading anything less than three words tends to indicate just how not all right he is. “I heard Valiant was picking on you.”

“Just the usual.”

So kicking, punching, tripping, teasing…

“Are you sure you don’t want me to…”

Merlin shakes his head quickly. “I can handle it myself. I don’t need you to save me.” But Arthur would, no asking needed. Hell, he wants to but Merlin doesn’t, so he won’t. Even if it drives him mad with a rage that has Elyan frowning and hauling him away by the collar when he sees Valiant walking past him.

“I’m not saving you. I don’t like him hurting people.”

Merlin nods once as if pleased. “That’s good. You’ll get far in life.”

They spend a few moments in silence before the curiosity is too much for Arthur to handle. “What were you writing?”

“Nothing really. Just … stories.” Merlin shifts on the bed making Arthur roll a little closer to him.

“So can I read them?”

“No. Not yet…maybe later.” Although Merlin says later Arthur isn’t wholly convinced.

“When you’re famous?” he tries with a slight smile.

Merlin ducks his head shyly and grins. “Yeah, when I’m famous.”

Merlin could be famous if he wanted to. Merlin could do anything if he wanted to. “I’ll have to buy the book like everyone else I suppose.”

There’s a shove to his shoulder. “We’ll I’d have to make my fortune somehow. I’d like to eat regularly if you don’t mind - help out a starving artist,” Merlin replies with a raise to his eyebrow as if to ask Arthur if he’d really let him starve.

Arthur crosses his arms behind his head and turns his eyes sadly in Merlin’s direction. “You won’t have time for me then. You being world famous. Will you forget us little people?” _Do celebrities remember old school mates? Or the people who used to sell them the newspaper when they were still broke and living in a dingy little flat?_ Arthur wonders sometimes whether his father remembers the name of Arthur’s old nanny - Jacqueline, not that Uther is famous - but he’s rich and that’s almost the same thing.

Merlin snorts and kicks his leg out against Arthur’s shin. “Don’t be stupid.” Arthur makes a noise of protest. “What about you? You’ll get to work at your dad’s company. You’ll be rich.”

“I could buy your book.”

“You could probably buy all my books…and the bookshops, too.”

Arthur’s eyes sweep Merlin’s room and land on the little bin overflowing with scrunched up balls of paper. “Are you sure I can’t read it?”

Next to him, Merlin sighs. “It’s not a book, Arthur, just an idea, and no.” Merlin quickly shoves the notebook under his pillow.

“You’re no fun.” Maybe he’ll try to sneak a peek if Merlin leaves for the bathroom.

“I’m plenty of fun.” A beat goes by before Merlin says, “Sophia likes you.”

Sophia… Racking his brains for a face but unable to fully identify one, he hazards a guess. “Who? The red-haired girl?”

Merlin nods. “She thinks you’re fit.” He pokes Arthur’s side, just under his ribs - a prime ticklish spot. Arthur tries not to flinch or let out a laugh because Merlin would take that and launch a full-on attack that would leave him gasping for breath. Or, he’d file it away for an opportune moment like a spy cataloguing their target’s weak spots. “Don’t know what she’s on about,” Merlin says slightly unimpressed.

“Watch it! I can probably break you in half. You’re so skinny.”

“I eat!” Merlin turns onto his side to face him. “I think she wants to go out with you.”

“How’d you figure that?”

“Because she came over to me and asked if I could mention her to you.”

“That’s dumb.”

“Why? Soph’s not that bad.”

Arthur wipes a palm over his trousers trying to get rid of the sweat that has suddenly started to slick his skin. “I don’t like Sophia…I’m sorry Merlin.”

“Don’t be sorry. You like who you like.” Arthur turns to face Merlin, drinking in Merlin’s words as if they were a blessing.  

“You think it’s okay?”

“Sure. So who do you like?”

The question leaves his mouth dry. He knows the answer to that question of course. He’s known for a while, but at the same time he _didn’t know._  Not until now, not until he’s been straight up asked. It’s like pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together, or the method of a maths problem finally making sense. _So who do you like, Arthur?_ Merlin shifts in the bed and turns onto his side.

Arthur’s face moves before his mind can make sense of what he's doing.

He has no frame of reference bar what he's seen on television or in the schoolyard or the unfortunate instances of when he's walked past a door only to see his father and one of his many and different acquaintances (read: bimbo/school principal/doctor/third-year undergraduate...)

When he presses his lips to Merlin's its quick and fleeting. Chaste, in a way that speaks of panic and fear but also of innocence and love.

Arthur doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but when he opens them he sees Merlin’s face and fights the urge to run.

“You kissed me.” Merlin’s eyes are wide like saucers.

The reality of what he’s done crashes upon him and he feels his face heat up and the bottom of the bed drop out from under him. He quickly rises onto his elbow, not chancing another glance in Merlin’s direction. “I did…oh god, I-“

“Did you want to kiss me?” Merlin asks quickly, his hand seizing the arm of Arthur’s shirt in a tight grip that seems unbreakable.

Arthur stutters. _What kind of question is that?_ “I think I did…I don’t think I’d have done it otherwise.” He quickly turns his head. Merlin doesn’t look angry. Just a bit...shell-shocked. _That’s okay...that’s not a bad reaction..._

Merlin’s brows pull down and he peers at Arthur curiously. “Do you think - would you want to do it again?”

“I might. That’s okay, right?” He doesn’t know what to do if the answer is no.

“Yeah, but…that’s your first kiss isn’t it?”

Arthur nods slowly. It feels stupid to confess. Most of the boys in school brag that they’ve already been kissed. Arthur, at fourteen, never says anything, he just smiles and weaves a tale of some girl at a ski resort that he went to four years ago. They think he’s a legend for that.

“Why me?”

And there’s the hundred-thousand (not millions, because Arthur’s pretty sure they’re not that rich) dollar question. _Because I think you’re it_ – that’s what he wants to say, but it’s too much, too fast, too soon for a fourteen year old to voice aloud. “Cause you wouldn’t punch me in the face,” he says instead, which is only a partial truth but still the truth.

Merlin stays quiet. Arthur starts to think that he’s misread the situation.

“You aren’t, are you?”

There are a few moments of pause before Merlin shakes his head as if putting serious thought into possible punching Arthur in the face. “No…but…did you actually like it?”

“It was weird.”

“Do we try again?”

“I don’t...” Arthur voice dies down. He feels slightly helpless now, as if he’s just bungee-jumped off a bridge only to realise that he never actually put on the harness. He didn’t think this far ahead. Hell the kiss just happened and he’s being asked to think of what comes next. _What the hell comes next?!_

“Arthur, hey, it’s okay. You gotta breathe slower.” Merlin brings his hand onto Arthur’s shoulder and applies just the slightest pressure. “It’s okay, if it’s a no. I don’t mind.”

Swallowing down a gulp of air, Arthur sits up and hunches his shoulders, face in his hands. “Was that your first kiss?” he mumbles.

Merlin ducks his head and says no. “Megan did it about a week ago. She pulled on me ear and then…” Merlin claps his hands together. “Bang!”

Always one for theatrics, Merlin. “Did you like it?”

Merlin’s mouth puckers as if he’s tasted something sour and his nose scrunches up in disgust. “She tasted like strawberry lip gloss, and it was that glittery stuff. It felt like she was trying to scrub away my mouth.”

Arthur manages a laugh when Merlin’s fingers dance across his skin finding that ticklish spot and chasing away the worry that Merlin would see him as different.

* * *

**November 1997**

“Father, oh…hi.” He freezes at the door seeing his father’s arms wrapped around a dark haired woman’s waist.

“Arthur!” Uther straightens up a little, no longer leaning on the edge of his desk. The woman leans away from him and eyes him warmly. “This is Petra. Petra, my son, Arthur.”

A heavily Russian accent crows in delight. “Oh, Uther, he is gorgeous! I have heard so much about you.” She pulls away from Uther and quickly takes Arthur’s hand in a firm grasp.

“Likewise,” he says politely. _What happened to Olive?_ he wonders already missing the tiny Australian who had easily become enfolded in their lives for a good two years. 

His father looks at him, a hand hooked around Petra’s waist. “Did you need something?” At least he looks happy which Arthur supposes is the important thing. He wants to talk to his father but…for this, he doesn’t know how.

“Uh…no, never mind.” Arthur disappears into the study and picks up the receiver before dialling Leon’s number.

“Hello?” Leon’s mother says softly.

“Hi, can I speak to Leon? It’s Arthur.”

“Sure sweetie. One second.”

There is a soft crackle as the phone is presumably put down, a slight whisper of movement, and a soft tread of footsteps before Leon speaks. “Arthur?”

“Is Morgana there with you?”

“She is. Here, hang on.”

Morgana’s concern bleeds through the line. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”

“What happened to Olive?”

“Who’s Olive? I thought he was with Denise?”

“Who is Denise?!”

She snorts and he can imagine her head shaking, Leon probably looking at her all confused and in love. “I swear sometimes that house goes through more women than the Playboy Mansion.”

“Eww. That’s disgusting. Gana, I still live there.”

“What do you want Arthur?”

“I’m considering doing something that may be seen as stupid.”

“Oh, tell me, I love it when you’re stupid.”

“I think Merlin’s the one.”

“As in…”

“Yeah. I think I wanna marry him.”

There’s a beat of silence and Arthur would worry that she hung up except there’s no dial tone. There is a good amount of spluttering and false starts however as she eventually screeches out, “You’re seventeen years old! Are you fucking mental?!”

“Morgana!”

“Have you told Uther about this? Or Hunith? Leon, come and talk some sense into my brother!” There’s an audible pause. “Actually don’t – you’ll just agree with him because you’re a romantic idiot too.”

“I’m not going to do it now - I’ll wait, after he finishes school! I just,” he cuts himself off with a sigh, “I just wanted to know whether you’d be okay, if I wanted Merlin to be part of the family.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Morgana sighs. “He already is.”

* * *

**January 1998**

“You’re going to stay close by aren’t you?” Merlin sits at the end of the bed, text books open and yellow highlighter tucked behind his ear.

Arthur looks up from his place on the floor and settles the comic book to his side. “Huh?”

“I mean when you go to university. It’ll be somewhere close. You know, so we can still see each other.” Merlin bites his lip and Arthur crawls over to him on his knees. The whole long distant thing, and university thing is freaking Merlin out.

Now, spit it out now, Arthur thinks placing his palms on his boyfriend’s knees. “Merlin, I don’t want to go to university. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay, so shoot.”

He’s been thinking about this for what feels like forever or at least ever since his father started bringing him in to meetings on the weekends. “I don’t want to work for my father. I want to work for the police.”

It appears that he’s finally struck Merlin completely speechless. “You want to — Arthur; why on earth would you want that?” There’s a hysterical lilt to Merlin’s voice and Arthur inwardly winces but he has his reasons, and they’re pretty good reasons, or at least he thinks they are.

“My father made a lot of money but it doesn’t — I don’t think it helps. I don’t know how to explain it, but I don’t want people to be hurt or afraid.” Okay, so it’s not the most eloquent way to make his point – his damn reasons all decided to go walkabout - but it’s the simplest summary of how he’s feeling.

“So you want to be hurt and afraid instead?” He can hear the worry and sits on the bed slinging an arm around Merlin’s shoulder.

“No! I just want to protect people.” Oh a reason!

“You really don’t want to work for your father?”

“It’s maths and meeting people in stuffy suits and swanky parties where they don’t give a shit about you.” Oh hello, another reason! Arthur mentally pats himself on the back, because that’s a good reason too.

Merlin pinches him. “I give a shit about you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Merlin nods once and leans in pressing his face into Arthur’s chest. “If you want it, go for it, but just...do a bit of research yeah? Know what you’re getting yourself into? It’s not gonna all be like on telly.”

Arthur kisses the top of his head. “Yeah, I will.”

* * *

**October 1998**

“We need to tell you something.”

“You don’t sound very sure about that,” Hunith teases him gently with a smile and a wink. She kneads the pizza dough a few more times before flinging it in the air like a professional.  Despite her culinary shortcomings, her pizza is the most amazing thing he’s ever devoured. “Does your father need to hear this too?” Arthur nods. “Uther! Your prodigal progeny has an announcement to make.”

Merlin gapes at his mother as Uther appears, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “He’s not that bad.”

“He wants to put himself in danger. On a daily basis. Willingly.” She starts spreading tomato sauce on the base.

Uther cranes his neck. “Hunith, you didn’t put anchovies in the sauce again, did you?”

“Did you want some?” The dinner thing is sort of new. It only really started after Arthur finished school. Uther made sure to have nothing on Sunday evenings. Hunith promised to attempt to make something palatable which meant Sunday night was pizza night. 

“God no.”

She starts putting on curls of smoked salmon followed the umbrellas of mushrooms as Merlin says, “He wants to protect people.”

“He wants to make an announcement,” Arthur interjects. “Hunith, Father...” He looks over to Merlin for confirmation. “We want to get married.”

“You and Merlin?” his father asks like he needs to double check that there are no other parties involved. They nod. “Now?”

Merlin shrugs. “Soon enough.”

Hunith makes her way to the table and sits in a chair. “But you’re both barely adults…”

Merlin bites his lip. “I know that we’re young but…we’ve thought about this a lot. We know that it’s a lot to take in but we make each other happy…and we hope you can be happy for us too.”

Hunith, quickly stands and kisses Merlin on the forehead. “For you, I can do anything.” She turns to do the same to Arthur. “Do not hurt my son.” To Merlin she says: “If you mess this up, I will personally sell every book related thing you own.”

“Father?” And Arthur can feel his legs start to shake the longer Uther’s silence reigns. He sees Uther’s eye twitch. _Fuck._

“I take it that you’ve spoken to your sister.”

“Morgana knows.”

“Okay then.” There’s a slow nod but he still hasn’t looked at Arthur. “Provided that you consider everything carefully, then I can’t stop you. However, Merlin must be over eighteen.”

“Totally!” Merlin blurts out, and Arthur refrains from smacking himself in the head.

“Well then,” Hunith says mildly. “Uther, congratulate your son,” she tells him, gently prodding his elbow.

* * *

**February 1999**

“He’s not going to murder us, is he?” Merlin breathes into his gloves, shifting from one foot onto another. Arthur shakes his head because that’s one of the dumbest things he’s heard and it’s appallingly early to be awake on a Saturday.

“We could be at home. We could be sleeping. Your mum could be making breakfast right now,” he says trying not to whine.

“If you’ve already forgotten, we could be doing all of that, but your father is the one who wanted us here.” Merlin grips his arm as they get off the bus and consults Arthur’s dictated instructions. “That says left yeah?” he asks, holding out the piece of paper.

Arthur scowls, eyes darting to it. “Of course it says left? Can’t you see the L?”

“You cabbagehead, it looks like an F,” Merlin says gravely. “You’d cut it as a doctor by your handwriting alone.”

“Not all doctors have bad handwriting Merlin.” The street is empty. There is no one around. His yearning for a bed mounts dramatically.

“Seeing as Gaius has been my doctor since I was a baby, he’s my only sample.”

“Gaius doesn’t write. He just draws a horizontal line across the paper.”

“Just like Gaius doesn’t yell. He raises his eyebrow. He’s subtle like that.” Merlin consults the paper once more. “Okay, a few more blocks.”

Finally they spot Uther in the distance. “Morning boys.”

“Father, what are we doing here?” He tilts his head up and looks at the block of flats already having inkling about the reason for the morning expedition. The façade of the flat seems nice enough. It’s dark blue with planter boxes under windows and balconies lining the centre of the building.

“Come on, follow me.”

Merlin shrugs his shoulders and they enter the elevator. Uther presses the button for the top flat and Arthur rolls his eyes because off course that’d be the one. 

When the elevator door opens to their level Uther pats his pockets in the landing area and unlocks the door. “So what do you think?” he asks opening the door and leading them in.

“It’s very nice…” Merlin takes in the large windows, and wide spaces. There are wooden floorboards, high ceilings, and a length of bookshelves across the back wall of the living room. He casts another look at Merlin who is already touching the furnishings.

“Good, because it’s yours.” Uther says and Arthur mouths the words along with him.

“You bought us a flat.”

“Wedding gift.” He waves his hand, a clear sign of dismissal.

“A three-bedroom flat,” Merlin continues.

Uther shrugs. “Growing boys need space.”

“And it’s furnished.”

“Hunith picked some of the décor. Mallory’s an interior designer so she was happy to advise us on what to do.”

“Mallory?” Merlin mouths.

“Girlfriend.” Arthur mouths back.

“Father we can’t take this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s insane!”

“I did the same thing to Morgana and she was very grateful.” He points to a picture on the mantelpiece. Arthur takes a hold of it and stares. The picture is of all of them: Uther, Hunith, Morgana, Leon, Mordred, Merlin and him at a dinner that Morgana had. “It’s from all of us.”

And with that, Arthur stops fighting.

* * *

  **March 1999**

“Hey, you okay?” Merlin’s voice comes out muffled, his face still half pressed into the pillow.

The hall light casts eerie shadows over Merlin’s face and as he looks at him standing in the doorway. Arthur struggles, continues to stare, begins to mourn. He’s falling apart now because he held it together then. “Come to bed.”

The clock on his bedside reads 3:36. He was meant to come off at eleven but just as he was zipping up his bag a call came in and gods he wished he hadn’t taken it. He could’ve run, right out the door but he didn’t. And a small part of him hates himself for it. “Welcome to hell,” Jasper, his training officer, had told him as they stopped at the scene.

Merlin rolls onto his side facing Arthur’s side of the bed and Arthur moves to his side of the bed in the dim light not bothering to switch the hall light off. He sits and breathes in deeply, his back straight. Merlin mumbles and Arthur flinches.

There’s was child’s shoe lying on the road tonight.

Arthur stays quiet, forcing his mind to be present as he unlaces takes off his shoes and slips his socks off his feet. His toes are cold and as he places them on the carpet he feels shock run up through his feet. He can feel the starchy pull of his collar around his neck and itches to take his shirt off but he can’t. His hands don’t want to move, he doesn’t want to move. 

“Arthur?” The lamp on his bedside switches on. Arthur doesn’t flinch, just readdresses his gaze onto the tips of his fingers and runs his nails under each other trying to remove the crust of red that stains them. The ambulance was too late.

Arthur doesn’t know how to tell Merlin that he just watched a little girl die in the back seat of a crumpled wad of metal that used to be a car. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” There’s insistence in Merlin’s voice. An edge of panic threads through his words and Arthur feels an arm reach out and touch his shoulder. “You’re shaking.”

_Am I?_

The bed shifts and dips. Merlin’s knees press his thigh. Merlin’s hands on his body. Merlin’s mouth hovering near his ear.

Arthur opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He closes it with a click of teeth. There aren’t words. Not yet anyway.

* * *

**June 1999**

“So when do you want to do it?” Merlin turns the volume of the TV lower and stretches. His feet push against Arthur’s thigh and he yawns.

“What?”

“It,” Merlin emphasises. “You know, get hitched?”

“Oh, right. I suppose we need to pick a date.” Arthur takes a hold of Merlin’s ankles and drags them over his lap, his fingers automatically move to press against the arch of one of his feet. Merlin hisses as he digs his fingers harder. Finally there’s a groan of relief and Arthur smiles to himself.

“You know that there’s a whole list of things to do. Sliding a ring on my finger doesn’t actual equal holy matrimony.”

“Shame, that. It’d be easier.”

“And you say that you’re the romantic.” There’s laughter in Merlin’s voice.

“I am. I proposed.”

Merlin grins, running a hand through his hair. “Actually you caught me trying it on and said good, don’t take it off, I’m gonna kiss you stupid.”

“Same difference.”

“Only in your world.”

* * *

**September 1999**

Merlin’s blanket drags across the floor. “It’s cold.”

“It’s a furnace in here.” He quickly glances away from his print outs on police procedure. “Are you sure you aren’t cold-blooded.”

“Pretty sure. If I was, I’d have a basking rock.”

Arthur huffs a laugh scrunching up one of his sticky notes. “You do — it’s called the balcony.”

“You can’t be naked on a balcony.”

“Huh…yo …” Merlin leaves him with a lingering kiss that has Arthur panting and flushed against the sofa cushions. “That’s not fair. I have to study for these exams!” Arthur whines. Merlin turns his head and smirks. “Merlin, that’s evil! You’re evil! I don’t like you anymore!”

* * *

**November 1999**

“No…because it’s ridiculous and weird!” He walks through the door at 4:30 in the afternoon only to see Merlin red faced with his mobile pressed against his ear. “They’re like a step away from pigeons! Do not…mum got naked and jumped over a broom…exactly! She’s not to be consulted about this…”

Arthur drops his bag onto the couch and quickly moves to Merlin’s side brushing a kiss against the crown of his head. Merlin offers him a wane smile in return before rolling his eyes. “Who is that?” Arthur whispers.

Merlin tilts the phone away from his mouth. “Your father."

“Why?”

Merlin shakes his head, frustration radiating from his body. “No listen I don’t care where they come from Uther.” Finding himself pushed away he stares as Merlin lets out an irritated sigh. “I’m sure PETA would have issues with this.”

“PETA?”

“Oh my god, what do you take me for!” Merlin actually face-palms himself and Arthur empathises with him greatly, knowing what his father can be like once he gets an idea. “I’m not going to report you to PETA! Why? Because I’m not having fucking doves released at our wedding…or butterflies. This is an animal free wedding!”

At this, Arthur cocks his brow catching Merlin’s gaze.

“Except for the steak – Arthur’s not negotiating on that.”

* * *

**February 2000**

There’s an insistent pressure building up in his bladder that draws him from the realm of sleep. There is also a pained groan from the lump beside him and a kick at his shin at the same time, so in hindsight Arthur is not actually sure what woke him up.

Whichever one it was, the lump besides him is speaking, so he decides to ruminate on that later. “You’re a prat,” the lump moans. The foot that was once aimed at his shin, slides down the rest of his leg until his traps one of his feet to the mattress.

Arthur hums in well-worn agreement, too tired to argue and still very much hungover. “So you keep telling me.”

The lump turns over, a bit like sausage. Finally, one hand appears, the ring still in place on the appropriate finger on it’s left hand. “Why did we drink so much?” It’s muffled, but the lump can be heard anyway.

Damn if he knows. He glides his hands over the covers and onto what he assumes is a shoulder. “Because we were happy.”

“And why were we happy?” The cocoon breaks, revealing Merlin under the covers. One side of his head looks decidedly flat, the other standing to attention, tufts of hair spiking up and awaiting for an order that probably will not come considering the fact that it’s Merlin who does not actually care about the state of his hair.

Arthur feigns wincing and cradles his head in his hand, aware that Merlin is watching him with glazed eyes and sleepy countenance. “Because — shit my head — you know, I don’t actually remember,” he gasps at the end of his revelation and turns his “fear-filled” gaze toward Merlin.

Merlin pinches his stomach.

It is nothing more than a lame attempt to jog his memory, and it smarts just a bit. Merlin’s nails are sharp. “Nope, not a thing. I wonder how many days we’ve lost.”

There’s a tired smile, and then Merlin rises up off the bed so he’s level with Arthur’s face. They spend a few minutes just watching each other before Merlin pecks his lips.

 _Getting better_ , Arthur thinks. “Oh, there was — oh, there was cake. I remember cake.” And it was the best damn cake he ever had. He misses that cake. His stomach was rather fond of that cake. It was not very big. Two layers and blue icing with figurines perched on the top of it: a cop him sitting on the edge of a desk as a writing Merlin sat with a book open. He would think more about the cake but there’s another kiss and a slide of a hand across his chest that steals a bit of his breath.

More memories are coming to him. “And champagne. I think there were people.” Not many people mind you, but the ones who mattered.

The hand slides down. Arthur isn’t sure whether his recollection is getting better or worse.

“I remember wearing a suit…” Stupid suit — tie too tight, and shirt a weird colour. Morgana either wanted him to look like a fool or die at the altar. It was definitely one, and because he didn’t die at the altar, she probably wanted him to look like a fool. “Were you there, too?” he asks innocently.

In answer, he receives a bruise sucked onto his neck just as the hand meets its target.

 _Fucking hell._ “I know what happened.”

“Oh yeah?”

There is a pause, a fucking long pause, and he knows what’s going to happen when he says the words, but he’s blaming it on the lack of blood to his brain for his answer. “I married an idiot last night.”

The hand disappears, and Merlin pulls away.

“Well then,” Merlin says. “This idiot’s off to brush his teeth.” Arthur finds himself in a moment of “huh?” before he realises Merlin’s leaving and with Merlin leaving so, too, does the promise of: ‘We got married last night, and this is our first morning as husband and husband’ sex. Arthur is starting to see the error of his words.

Merlin scoots over and lifts up the blanket, and Arthur quickly wraps a hand over Merlin’s wrist and his other hand across Merlin’s chest, tugging him insistently against his chest.

“Sorry, did I say idiot? I meant sex-wizard,” Arthur murmurs into Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin groans turning his head. “You fucking dork.” He grins as Merlin tilts his head back for a kiss.

* * *

**March 2000**

Sunken into Merlin’s side, Gwaine’s head presses up against Merlin’s chest. Merlin shifts his head back as Gwaine moves trying to get comfortable, his hair tickling Merlin’s chin.

“He dropped off fast,” Leon notes, tipping his bottle in Gwaine’s direction.

Arthur smiles and plays with the label of his own bottle.

They’re crowded into what they’ve deemed “their booth” at the pub on Saturday. It’s only — Arthur checks his watch his eyes widening. “It’s half past seven.” Like a child he cranes his wrist so the others can see.

Lance frowns and surveys the sleeping man. “He didn’t even drink that much.” Next to Gwaine, Morgana taps the two empty bottles of beer and holds up the third unfinished one. “Is he all right?”

Merlin bites his lip, and Arthur can see it written all over Merlin’s face: he knows information. He has something to tell. Merlin turns his head catching his eyes. “I can’t tell you. Or anyone else,” he whispers.

The distress in his voice is cute, and Arthur smiles back trying to ease the unnecessary guilt. Merlin’s hand clutches the hem of his shirt, underneath the table, unobservable to prying eyes. “Then don’t,” Arthur whispers back, running his thumb over the back of Merlin’s neck just under the hairline

“But…no secrets,” Merlin says weakly.

“But you promised him. It’s okay. I don’t need to know everything.” Merlin’s eyes suddenly grow wide, and he pulls a face that has Arthur concerned. “You okay?”

Grimacing, Merlin nods. “I think he’s sleeping with his mouth open.”

Arthur tries not to laugh. “He’s your mate.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Why is he my mate when he’s being gross or the drunk bastard at the door? Is this how it’ll be when we have kids? Sorry, Merlin, your child broke the TV?” There’s exasperation laced through his small tirade, but it’s severely undercut by the amused smile on his face.

Gwen smiles softly at them both and then looks at Gwaine with worry lines creasing her forehead. “He’s your friend, too, Arthur,” she admonishes from next to Lance.

Unaware of being the centre of conversation, Gwaine snuffles further into Merlin’s chest and lets out a little sneeze, still fast asleep.

Leon smirks. “Maybe…” Arthur opens his mouth to protest. “But hypothetically speaking if they for some unbelievably unfathomable reason, they decided to get divorced-“

Said duo of the current topic of conversation open their mouths in protest but are silenced but Gwen’s quick shushing.

“All I’m saying is that hypothetically, if forced to choose, Gwaine would pick Merlin.” Everyone nods in agreement, including Arthur because it’s true. Gwaine would follow Merlin to the ends of the earth and has many times before stated unequivocally that Merlin was his best and only friend.

Percy doesn’t even seem to mind.

Arthur claps his hands together with a little rub at the end. “Well then, I’d get Leon and Lance.” He winks at Merlin.

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Yeah. No shit, Arthur-“

“I’d get Lance,” Merlin cuts in. Arthur’s hands drop.

“What?” Arthur cries. “I get Lance.” He looks across the table to Lance before back to Merlin, turning his body a bit in his space to face Merlin properly.

Merlin looks at him, unimpressed. “You wouldn’t even know who he was if it wasn’t for me.” True enough as Lance, also a cop, was called to Merlin’s campus after a student demonstration got out of hand (read: really fucking violent) but…it’s Lance.

“Why don’t we ask him?” Arthur says.

Lance tries not to cower as they both turn their eyes toward him. He clears his throat, and his eyes dart between Gwen and the table. “Oh, I don’t want to.”

“Wimp,” Arthur replies with a shake of his head.

“Merlin,” Lance blurts out automatically.

This isn’t turning out how he hoped it would. “Oh, what? Because I called you a wimp?”

Lance shrugs. “Merlin’s nicer.”

“Cheers, mate,” Merlin laughs.

Arthur will find people. “Gwen?” he tries.

Gwen’s eyes grow wide, and she blushes, flustered under the warm lights and intense attention. “Oh dear…” she begins. “Well…I….sorry, Merlin. I guess Arthur.” Arthur decides to ignore the reluctance in her voice and puts his hand up for her to high -five. She does so, head shaking, face grinning ruefully, bouncing ringlets, swinging in her eyes. “Such a dork,” Gwen says fondly.

“And I get Elyan, too,” Arthur adds quickly, as if he’ll forget. Merlin doesn’t fight him on that. With Leon being Morgana’s husband, and Arthur moving in ninth grade to a different school, and therefore meeting Gwen and Elyan there, Merlin expects nothing less.

“Percy will go to Merlin,” Lance says. “‘So to Merlin that’s …Gwaine, Percy and me. Which means Morgana, it’s your turn to choose.”

“Merlin.”

Arthur stands up in outrage. “But I’m your brother!” The pub grows quiet, and Merlin quickly tugs Arthur down by his belt.

Disgruntled, Arthur sits. ‘ _Family loyalty’ my arse._

“I know you’re my brother, but I still choose Merlin.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work, though!”

"Fine, I'll go with you if I matters so much, and Gwen will go with Merlin. That way we keep all the love birds together."

Arthur looks beseechingly in Gwen’s direction. "I don't want to lose Gwen, though."

"Think of it like this: At least it'll be even, and I'll be more likely to kill Merlin if he cocks up instead of you."

"You'd kill me regardless of whose fault it would be." Arthur pouts at his sister who shows him the finger.

She rolls her eyes as Merlin reiterates the final groups. "Well then, that settles it then. Arthur gets Morgana, Leon and Elyan. And I'll get Gwaine, Lance, Gwen and Percival."

"That's still not right…" Arthur mumbles. "I want Mordred."

Morgana drops her head into her hands. Arthur’s testing her patience. "He's not even here!"

"Who cares? I’m making it official.” He texts their little younger brother and waits with baited breath.

 

> Mordred. Ur on my side.
> 
> _Message received 8:00PM_
> 
> As lng as its ok w/ Merlin.
> 
> _Message received 8:02PM_

He stares at the text message with growing horror. This must be what death feels like.

Merlin pats his shoulder consolingly. “Arthur, try not to worry about it. It’s not like we’re actually getting divorced. If it makes you feel better, I’ll always choose you.”

It does make him feel better.

* * *

**May 2000**

Arthur frowns and taps his boot against a ratty pair of shoes as he enters his front door. “Gwaine, what are you doing here?” He shouts, swearing as the handles of a dark blue sportsbag almost have him kissing the floor.

Gwaine switches the channel on Arthur’s television and holds a lazy hand up in greeting. “Taking up your couch.”

“I can see that.”

Another switch. Daytime cooking by the looks of it. “I cleared it with Merlin.”

“Right. You have a couch at your place. I’ve seen it. It’s blue, three seater, long enough for you, a little short for Percy? There’s red cushions in one corner and a suspect stain on the seat cushion on the far right.” Inwardly he shudders at its remembrance.

Gwaine hums pushing another button. Now he’s watching a renovation show.  “That’s paint.”

“I feel so much better now.” And that's not a lie. “So what’s up?”

Gwaine shrugs letting his arm drop from his stomach to the floor despondently. “Nothing.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and sits in his armchair. “Great then get out.”

“Merlin said I could stay.”

“Seriously mate what’s going on.” Yeah, he’s being nice to Gwaine. It’s apparently just one of those days when the world feels a bit upside down.

Gwaine finally turns his head, his face pinched in a frown. When he speaks, he does it quietly and carefully, sneaking glances in Arthur’s direction like he’s afraid of being laughed at. “Do you and Merlin ever discuss having kids?”

Arthur can feel the surprise pass through him. “You and Percy?”  

Gwaine shrugs offering Arthur a wane smile. “It’s such a bad idea. I mean can you imagine it? Me, being a dad?” He turns his gaze back to the television and changes the channel again. “I never thought I’d want a rugrat. Turns out I do.”

“Does Percy want one?”

He sees just the slightest hesitation before Gwaine shakes his head. “Not particularly.”

* * *

**August 2000**

“Hey, is this a bad time?”

“Nah, I’m doing paperwork.”

“So tossing balls of paper in a bin?”

“I’m working! Swear to god. I’m staring at a big stack of files right in front of me.” He smiles hearing Merlin chuckle at the other end of the line. “So what’s going on?”

“They liked it!”

Arthur drops his feet from the desk and sits up in his seat. “What, who liked it…Merlin?”

“My book…they liked my book.”

Arthur signs his name off on another report and puts it in his outbox. “You mean they liked that you put Merlin and Arthur together? And are you sure you can’t change the names?”

“Arthurian legend equals Arthur. Merlin the Wizard means Merlin.”

“This is some great big cosmic joke — you’re getting that right?”

“Morgana and Morgana, and Lancelot and Lance and Guinevere and Gwen — it’s not that bad.”

“Merlin, Gwaine the Green Knight and Gwaine.”

“We’ll it’s not like Gwaine’s going to be reading it. Gwaine doesn’t read.”

“He does when he has to.”

“Oh well. If I make a bit of cash out of this cosmic joke then go me.” Arthur can imagine Merlin doing a happy dance right about now. He checks the time and feels disappointed – it’s just past eleven in the night, and he has another four hours until he gets to go home.

“Congratulations, love. I’m very proud of you.”

* * *

**September 2000**

“You want me to write what?” Arthur pulls his phone away from his ear to make sure that he’s speaking with the right person.

The voice on the other end says the words again. “Character reference.”

He adds another line to the draft of his report. “Like, Gwaine is an honourably lazy person who eats three day old cold pizza for breakfast?”

“Aww, why d’ya got to be like that Arthur?” Gwaine whines. Arthur snorts - because it’s fun and quite true. “I could always ask Merlin, you know what, I should ask Merlin since he’s the writer and all-“

Arthur adds his signature to the end of the report and inwardly sighs seeing the stack of paper still waiting for his attention. For some reason the telly never really gets across the sheer amount of paperwork the police force gets blessed with. It must not make for compelling viewing. “Yeah you probably should, but I’m going to write one anyways just to show you that I can write just as well as he can.”

“Great, I’ll throw yours away when I get his,” Gwaine tells him.

Arthur tries not to be offended. “Fool.”

“Princess.”

“Sloth.”

“Envy.”

“Bye Gwaine.”

He thinks that Gwaine’s hung up until he hears: “Thanks Arthur,” said in an oddly soft voice. It leaves Arthur speechless and all he can do is clear his throat and throw out a ‘no worries’ as goodbye.

* * *

**November 2000**

“Hello?” He says, half asleep and still groggy. He only got home two hours ago after coming off of 35 hours of solid work. There’s a murderer on the loose and everyone is tense and severely unprepared that they’ve had to bring in help from other stations, including Lance’s.

“Hey, sorry. I know I probably just woke you up,” Merlin says quietly.

Arthur stifles a yawn and rolls in the bed, imagining Merlin pressed against him. “It’s fine. It’s good to hear from you. Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I know, Arthur. It’s only a week but it feels…” Merlin trails off. “How have you been?”

“Run off my feet.”

Merlin sighs and Arthur wants to smack his head because it’s probably on the news at night and the newspapers in the day. “Are we talking theft or just general not good or…is he dangerous?”

“We’ll be all right. Always am, aren’t I?”

“Shit, are you in danger?” And Merlin voice rolls over him – because he knows Arthur well enough to know the sound of his lies.

“No more than usual. Don’t worry, Merlin, you’ve got books to sign and people to greet. Tell me about it all.”

“Arthur?”

Arthur presses his head back into the pillow and puts Merlin on loudspeaker. “I’ll drift off eventually, just keep talking…I miss your voice.”

Merlin, bless him, starts rambling about his work-trip with his publisher and the small shop that was wrangled for his book launch. “Right then. So a few days ago I get a verbal lashing from a reader for making them fall in love with each other instead of King Arthur falling in love with Guinevere.”

“Really?” he hums with a smile.

“Yeah! he said I was, and I quote, ‘fucking with the classics’.”

“You are fucking with the classics.”

“I am, but most people are more, “wow, you’ve changed this, and I never thought about their relationship like that,’ not…you know, ‘you’re just trying to make money off of this crap.’”

A little flare of find the mean man and beat him into a pulp runs through him. “Did he call it crap?”

“Said it was worse than Moby Dick”

“Is that the one with the whale? Who cares, you’re book is fantastic.”

“Yes, it’s the one with the whale,” Merlin says with a hint of literary haughtiness. “And you haven’t read mine yet.”

“I’m in the process of reading it.” He casts his eyes to the copy on his nightstand, only read up to the dedication. “Loved the dedication by the way.”

“I should’ve dedicated it to Lance. Now you’ll never be able to leave the bedroom because your ego won’t fit through the door.”

“My ego won’t mind not leaving the bedroom…”

“If the book does well, they might try and get it published overseas. I mean how amazing would that be. They said that the book is selling well. Arthur? Hey sweetheart, are you there?” There’s no response but a soft snore. “Love you, prat.”

* * *

**January 2001**

“They actually gave you tiny people to look after,” Arthur says peering into the crib that houses the slumbering twins.

Gwaine hasn’t taken his eyes off of them. “Aye, they did.” It is a beautiful thing to see, don’t get him wrong, but it is still unbelievably strange.

“You can hardly look after yourself, Gwaine.”

Gwaine looks at him. “Hey, why don’t you rib Percy?”

“Because I know he can look after himself.”

“Can he?”

“They gave you two!” Arthur looks at Merlin for confirmation that he’s not seeing double. He finds that he is not. There are really two small humans clad in onesies asleep.

“Princess, shut your trap, you’ll wake them up.” And Gwaine is their father.

“But two!” he insists.

Percy appears in the doorway. “Where’s Gwen gone?”

Merlin looks at the backdoor with a frown marring his face. “She said she needed some fresh air.”

“I’ll go bring her a drink.” Arthur manages to tear himself away and makes his way over to the back of the house where Gwen is standing in the middle of the garden. Her back is to the house, but he can tell by the way that her body shifts that she is stopping herself from stealing glances back at the house.

He clears his throat, not wanting to startle her. She doesn’t turn around. “Thought you could do with some alcohol.”

There is no acknowledgment that she’s heard him until: “You should go back. I felt a little overwhelmed.” There’s an apology hidden in those words that he doesn’t know what to make of just yet.

She accepts the glass that he offers again and takes a sip. “That’s understandable,” he offers. “Did you want to go home? I can let Lance know-”

Gwen cuts him off and finally turns her head to look at him. She looks tired and a little bit stressed, or maybe it’s harassed. For once he realises that it is not a pretty sight. It ruins the illusion that Gwen is infallible. He concedes that maybe it had to be done. "Has Lance ever said anything about children to you?” Gwen asks.

He shifts his feet and shakes his head with a small, well-meant smile. “Sorry, we only discuss sports.” She eyes him critically. “We do!” He splutters. She continues to look, and Arthur’s shoulders slump. “We honestly don’t really talk about about children. You on the other hand...”

“He said he was happy with how we were,” she murmurs.

She’s beginning to sound despondent. Arthur wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in close to his body, tucking her head under his chin. “He wouldn’t lie about that to you.”

There’s a sniffle and a curse that’s whispered under her breath. It is a faint mark of her anger that is carried away by the sounds that surround them. “Wouldn’t he?”

“No. He knew when you got together. You should really talk to him about it if it bothers you so much.”

“Is it strange that I never really wanted them?”

“Of course it isn’t.”

“Hell, I mean if Gwaine-“ she starts.

“Listen, Gwaine is Gwaine. We never understand half of the things he does or says; so really, do not view him as a something to strive to. He is who he is, just as you are who you are.” He punctuates this with a small shake and kiss to her head. “I wouldn’t change you for the world, you know that.”

She looks down and pats his chest. “That was quite eloquent of you.”

“I have my moments.”

“Thanks, love.”

“Anytime. Wanna go inside?”

“Yeah, okay."

"Maybe the twins are up now. They can meet the Awesome Aunt Gwen.” He turns with her still tucked under his arm and make their way back inside to where the twins are certainly awake if the sounds of crying are to be trusted. Unless of course the crying is from one of the adults, but he highly doubts it.

“Gwen! A little help!” Gwaine shouts with relief.

“Go be awesome,” Arthur says pushing her to Gwaine. She disappears, following Gwaine as he makes his way over to Merlin.

“Is she all right?”

“She’ll be fine,” he says, kissing Merlin’s cheek.

“One of them woke up and started bawling. And this of course started the other one off. You should’ve seen Gwaine’s face.”

“Do you think you want one?”

“At the moment?”

Arthur shrugs.

“Not now. But in the future, maybe one. Not twins, though. I don’t think I can handle crying in stereo.”

“Table the idea?”

“Yep.”

* * *

**March 2001**

“I’m telling you, there is something weird about him!” Merlin reties his tie and puts his shoes on. “I’m pretty sure he’s following me.” 

“You just don’t like him.” Arthur reattaches his handcuffs to his belt, and manages to capture Merlin’s flailing wrists. He drops a kiss to Merlin’s left wrist over reddened skin. “And as for the following, it’s probably like when you buy a car and you start noticing that everyone has the same one as you.”

“Of course I don’t like him - he looks at you funny!” his husband protests.

“Merlin…are you jealous?” he teases gently. Cedric is annoying. As a journalist, he’s taken to bothering him for information on their killer. He shows up at crime scenes with a tape recorder in hand, waits by his desk with paper and pen at the ready.

“Not on your life.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

Merlin slaps him lightly on the arm. “Christ, you’re an idiot.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, watching him move to the door, keys in his hand and satchel over his shoulder.

“Arthur, I’m late for my meeting with Erica.”

“Fine,” he says, noting Merlin’s lingering as he steps closer.

There’s hesitancy to Merlin’s departure. “Just, be careful around him. Please that’s all I’m asking. Love you.”

Arthur nods and presses a kiss against Merlin’s forehead.

* * *

**June 2001**

“Merlin?”

Lance crouches down and takes another photograph –the flash casting a second of shadow over the body. Another body.

Another click – flash.

Click – flash.

Click – flash.

“Let me guess. Cancelled?” Arthur stares at the pool of blood around the man’s head. Lance looks up at him, mouth pinched in a frown, his own phone drawn out to send a message to Gwen, letting her know that he’ll be back later than intended.

Arthur closes his eyes briefly – opens them to see Constable Fletcher wave him over to table behind the couch. “I’m sorry. I swear I will find the time just not…now.”

“Another one? How bad?” Merlin gets out in a breath. “Arthur? What’s going on?”

“Lance, we got another note. Pictures of this too mate,” he says. Lance gets up, one last click – flash of the body before making his way over to them. “Nothing good, Merlin?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, and Arthur wars between guilt and anger as he hears the softest whisper of, “Sometimes I wish you had a different career…” It’s a declaration not meant for his ears. Merlin probably doesn’t even realise that he’s said it out loud, but Arthur hears it. And Arthur will fixate on it – turn it around in his head, wonder if Merlin resents him for his career choice – but that’ll come later. “Okay, stay safe.”

“Always.”

He ends the call and sees Lance look at him cautiously, the note now in his glove covered hand. “Why is it addressed to you?”

* * *

**September 2001**

It’s ten minutes past eleven and he’s starting to panic a little bit. He tries his husband’s phone again but it goes to voicemail.

Merlin was gone when he woke up that morning. His side of the bed was cold, and an empty cup in the sink was the ‘note’ left for Arthur. Merlin is normally home early. These days Arthur barely ever beats him to the door.

Pacing the length of the living room, Arthur considers letting calling it in – damn the plan, the plan isn’t working. They’re in danger. They’ve been in danger for months and nothing is happening and now Merlin hasn’t come home yet and Arthur is slowly losing his mind. 

Twenty minutes later the door bangs open and Merlin tumbles through, tripping over the lip and falling sideways. As soon as he spots Arthur, he grins widely and puts his arms out. “You’re homie!” he slurs drunkenly.

 _Oh thank god_. Arthur hauls him up by the armpits and closes the door. “So are you,” he says trying to lead Merlin past the mess in the kitchen and into the bedroom.

Merlin’s wide-eyes take in the small present and melted candles on the dining room table, his mouth dropping into a tiny ‘o’ of surprise. He hiccups once and then gasps dramatically swivelling his head between Arthur and the remnants of their failed date night. “We were…to do…date!”

“Yes.”

“’m late!” Arthur snorts tugging on Merlin’s elbow.

“You are.”

“I’m ’n drunk,” Merlin says flopping backwards onto the bed.

Arthur lifts up Merlin’s right foot and takes of his shoe. He repeats the action for the left foot and decides against removing Merlin’s socks. “Absolutely smashed,” he confirms standing up and pushing Merlin up and wrestling him under the covers.

“You mad…at me?” There’s a wobble to Merlin’s bottom lip, his eyes glassy like he’ll actually cry and Arthur wants to say yes.

“Depends on the reason.” He pulls the covers up under Merlin’s chin. “You should sleep.”

Merlin blinks owlishly at him. “In bed?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yeah, where else?”

“Couch.” Merlin says severely.

“You want the couch?”

“Nooo…unless you want me t’couch.”

At that Arthur softens. He doesn’t smile, but dips down and presses a kiss against Merlin’s sweaty forehead. “Bed should be fine.”

“Love you,” Merlin slurs trying to chase his mouth. When he realises that he’s not getting what he wants he turns over, face half pressed in the pillow, eyes closed, mouth sad.

“That’s nice.”

Merlin sighs, snuggles deeper into the pillow. “You don’t say it.”

“I do.” Arthur clicks off the lamp.

“You doughnut.”

* * *

**October 2001**

“Where were you?”  Merlin’s voice isn’t sharp – it’s resigned, and for some reason, that hurts Arthur more than he cares to admit.

“Cedric needed some help. I didn’t mean to get in so late. ”

He watches Merlin’s mouth twist. “Really, Cedric? What could he possibly help you with?” 

“He noted a pattern in our case.” He shifts his gaze away. “You know I can’t tell you anything.”

“No, of course you can’t tell me anything. But Cedric?”

“What do you want me to say? You’re an author Merlin!”

“And so is Cedric! We both deal in words, the only difference is that I make up things and Cedric doesn’t. And honestly that’s me being kind. But that’s not the point. Listen, it’s late…we were supposed to go out tonight. We…we can pick this up in the morning, maybe…I’m going to bed.”

Sure enough the couch has a pillow and blanket covering it’s surface.

That was nice of him, Arthur thinks, pulling off his jacket.

* * *

**November 2001**

Arthur tries, he really does try but things start to get busy. Another person dies. Merlin begins writing another series. Things fall to the wayside.

“Where the hell are you?” Arthur blinks and pauses the surveillance video that Lance sent him. Onscreen the offender is frozen in mid-jump, his face turned away from the camera.

Arthur stops himself from growling. It’s another lead that is taking him nowhere. “I’m working.”

“Still? You said that you were going to be done three hours ago!”

“I’m sorry, but there’s only a few of us on at the moment. Merlin, you know we’re understaffed.”

“I know, but you promised. Christ, Arthur, I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks. It’s one night. We agreed. Tonight.”

“We did, and I tried to get out, but I can’t. I am sorry, believe me, I would rather be with you.”

“Then do it.”

Arthur frowns and takes a quick glance at his phone, the screen now dark. “Merlin?”

He hangs his head for a second before rewinding the scenes. There has to be something he’s missing. They’ve been told there are two suspects, a partnership. The notes are from two different people. One person writes to Arthur, and the other one…the other one writes to Merlin.

* * *

**June 2002**

He’s not entirely sure how they got to this point. Merlin sits stonily beside him in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest, and face turned out towards the window. The radio is on in the background to fill in the silence – just a gentle hum of static and music and DJ’s talking about mundane things.

“This can’t get any worse,” Arthur says through gritted teeth. He may not be sure about how they got to sleeping in separate beds, arguing nearly every second and generally disliking each other, but he does know that he’s angry.

Merlin doesn’t turn away from the window. “Are you trying to jinx us?”

“I feel like an idiot.” He slides into a parking space, and turns off the engine.

“Then you can go home if you want.”

“Really?” Arthur says hating the sardonic smile on his face as he fiddles with the rear view mirror just to have something to do. _Stop stalling_.

“I’ll fix this sodding mess myself.”

“Yourself? Come off it. It’s not like you’re ever at home.”

“Whatever, let’s get this over and done with.”

Merlin unbuckles his seatbelt and gets halfway out the door when Arthur asks, “Are you talking about the session or our marriage?”

It’s a horrible thing to say. Merlin’s back goes stiff and he continues out of the car. Arthur scrambles out of his seat, an apology at the ready, but then Merlin retorts with something equally horrible…

“What fucking marriage?”

Merlin’s words are punctuated by the sound of the door slamming shut.

* * *

**June 2002**

He can feel his sister’s eyes roam over him cataloguing his greasy hair and tired eyes, taking in the day old scruff on his jawline. He knows that her eyes are sweeping down, creased shirt, a button done up incorrectly. There’s a sharp intake of breath. "Arthur, where's your-“

"Morgana,” he sighs wearily leaning against the open door.

"Oh my god,” she murmurs.

"Morgana."

"You didn't…oh, fuck, Arthur."

“It’s a trial separation,” he says weakly. “I’ve still got it.” He pulls a black cord out of his shirt and drops it onto his chest. There’s a little tug at the back of his neck, a twinge of uncomfortable weight that is much heavier than just a band of metal. “I was told not to wear it on my hand — the counsellor never said I couldn’t wear it around my neck.”

He offers her a grin.

Wry.

Fragile.

_Look Gana, I outsmarted her…_

She reaches over and gently taps the ring with her index finger. She leads him through the door and into the living room. “No, I suppose she didn’t. Where are you staying? The flat, right?”

“The flat got rented out when we bought the house. I'm staying with Father.”

Her hand moves to his shoulder. “You’re kidding, right? Come on, we’re getting your crap, and you can stay with me.”

“I’m alright there.”

Morgana frowns. “Are you really willing to accidentally walk in on him and, who is it this time, Catrina? Getting it on over the billiards table?” Arthur turns green – similar to the hue of the billiards table felt.  “Thought so. Where’s Merlin staying?”

“At home.”

“Why is he staying there?”

 _Good question sis. When I have the answer I’ll let you know_. “He needs to write.”

“We have computers, you know. And internet cafés.”

“It’s easier at home.”

“Did he kick you out?”

“No…” Morgana looks at him carefully.

_Arthur, I’m behind schedule, if I want to have this next book published then I need to focus. Not worry about moving my things out._

_So I have to do it. You’re kicking me out…_

She takes his hand in hers and squeezes softly. “I’m going to kill him. It’ll be slow, and drawn out – painful even.” It’s a joke. Arthur’s ninety-five percent sure that it’s a joke. He’s about to take her up on the offer (he’s a hundred percent kidding) when his niece, Juliet walks in and sits herself down on the floor before him.

She looks up at Arthur, a hand entwined in his trouser leg, her reddish hair tied up high in a ponytail with a few stray curls already finding freedom. “Is Uncle Merlin coming, too?”

He leans forward and strokes his hand from the top of her head to just under her chin. “Sorry kiddo. Not tonight.”

“Will you read me a bed time story?” She blinks her big blue eyes at him and he knows the answer will be yes. It will always be yes – it has been yes since she was born.

“I’d be happy to. Do you have one in mind?”

“ _Shrek_?”

“Um, okay, _Shrek_ it is.”

She grins widely, scoots up onto her knees, her hands on his knees to balance herself. “Can you do voices?”

“I can try. You want to read with me? We need a princess.”

A little crinkle appears between her brows and he waits knowing that she’s working something out, he’s not sure what it is exactly, but he knows that it’s important. Finally she asks, “Can I be Donkey?”

“Sure Jules, you can be Donkey.”

* * *

**July 2002**

Leon is going to kill him. He surveys the kitchen, sees the flour sprinkled all over the benches and over Juliet’s clothes. He studiously ignores the egg dripping onto the floor, puddling next to his feet from the counter. He focuses on Juliet’s small hands playing with the cookie dough.

Juliet’s tongue sticks out at the side, her fingers reaching over to add another pinch of chocolate chips.

His phone rings and he answers without checking.

“What are you doing?” He hasn’t heard Merlin’s voice in a week.

He glances quickly at Juliet. “I’m babysitting-”

“Helping!” Juliet corrects loudly with a pout. “I’m not a baby.” She slaps the round of dough with the palm of her hand and giggles a little at the dull thwack that resonates around her.

“I know sweetie. Sorry, I’m helping Juliet bake,” he informs Merlin, suitably chastised. He hears Merlin’s huff of laughter and finds himself smiling. He snags a pinch of cookie dough and pops it in his mouth pulling a face and Julie’s scowl. Apparently, stealing cookie dough is severely frowned upon by four year olds.

“I heard from Will – he’s in town.”

There’s a part of him that will always dislike Will. He doesn’t know what it is about Merlin’s friend – and Will is definitely Merlin’s, not his never ever has been his – that rubs him the wrong way. Maybe it’s childish possessiveness that he never outgrew. Most likely, and he recognises how stupid it is – but it probably has to do with the fact that for two days, when he was six, Merlin chose Will.

“Haven’t seen him in a long while. You should go catch up with him.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about it…” Merlin says after a beat. “I’ll see you next week at counselling?”

“Next week,” Arthur confirms before hanging up. He turns to his niece catching her take a handful of dough into her mouth. _Got you!_ “Alright then, so I assume that we aren’t actually going to put anything in the oven today?”

* * *

**July 2002**

They were instructed to not talk to each other anymore than once a week. Arthur thinks it’s stupid – wonders whether the growth of the ache in his heart is meant to be a good thing.

“Are you okay Arthur…where are you? I’ve been trying your phone.” Merlin sounds worried. 

“I’m fine.” Arthur yawns from the passenger seat as Lance drives around the roundabout. “I’m with Lance. How’s the book coming along?”

Merlin’s voice turns tight, like he’s talking through gritted teeth. “I hate it. I hate it so much. I want to scrap it.”

Lance finally pulls into the station carpark, he gestures getting out and Arthur waves him off with a mouthed ‘five minutes’. “I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he says once the driver’s side door closes.

“It’s bullshit.”

“Merlin, you’re going to be fine.”

“Fuck, unless you write, you don’t get it.”

At that, Arthur tries his best to control the bite in his voice. _Breathe in. Breathe out._ Just like the counsellor told them too. “Stress is stress Merlin – and between the two of us, one of us has the possibly life threatening job.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says softly. “I…you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay Merlin?”

“A little hysterical clearly,” Merlin dismisses himself with a huff.

“You never could cope with the pressure,” Arthur teases in return. “Remember when you were eight and you ran out of class because you forgot how to spell knife?”

Arthur had heard Merlin’s sniffles outside of his classroom and promptly asked his teacher for a toilet break which was granted. When Arthur finally saw him he had a sobbing Merlin in his arms wailing: Arthur, I don’t remember! Is there it ‘ph’ or ‘gh’…I’m so dumb…but there’s a-a-there’s a silent letter! And I don’t know figure out which one it is because it’s silent!

“Oh my god, I forgot about that!” Merlin’s voice is much lighter now and Arthur inwardly preens.

The next thing he knows, Lance is at the window with an amused smile on his face. Arthur rolls down the window. “So five minutes ended about half an hour ago.”

“It what?” Sure enough, he checks his watch and sees that it’s almost four o’clock. “Shit, Lance. Merlin, we lost track of time…I’ve been sitting out in the car since you called and I’m still on shift.” He quickly clambers out of the car catching Lance’s grinning face from the corner of his eye. He shoves Lance in the shoulder and rolls his eyes.

“Oh sorry! Why didn’t you tell me you were on shift? Go back to work. Thanks for calming me down about the book.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to you later, and remember its K. N. I. F. E.”

Merlin laughs ruefully. “Thank you for the spelling tip.”

* * *

**August 2002**

“I’m going to be away for about a week, if you want you can stay at the house.”

“You want me to house-sit my own house?”

“No…I just thought…maybe you’d want to come home?”

“And when you come back, I move back to Morgana’s.”

“Um…only if you want to, but…no. No, you come home, and I come home and we work on us.”

“Okay…yes.” He barely restrains himself from jumping into the air.

* * *

**August 2002**

He wakes up in hospital. A cannula is under his nose forcing air into his nasal cavity, and bright fluorescent lights that promise him a headache to add to the experience.

“DS Pendragon?” A nurse leans over him. A halo appears behind her head. _I really died_. “How are you feeling?”

“’m alive…n’dead…” he slurs muzzily.

The nurse fusses with his covers, checks his eyes and takes his blood pressure with a cuff that pinches uncomfortably at his skin.  “Yes, you are alive. No, you are not a zombie. Congratulations are available if you wish for them.”

“Wa’er?”

“Here we are love. Small sips only. That’s it.”

The fog in his brain clears only just. “What happened?" He looks at the empty bed next to his and remembers that he wasn’t alone in the car. “Lance?”

The nurse pushes his shoulder and he lies back down still looking at the empty bed. “He’s fine, broken wrist, a few cuts and bruises. I’ll go tell him that’s you’re awake.”

He doesn’t remember much – bright lights flashing before him. The road wet and a car skidding into his side. “You’re awake.” He looks up; see’s Lance’s bruised face, and casted arm.  “Merlin’s on his way. Gwen’s been trying to get him to eat since you came in.”

_Merlin…_

“How long…”

“Two days.”

Christ, two days. “Fuck.” He pulls the sheet down to just above his navel and sees the stark white padding of a bandage fixed onto his skin. “Shit, Lance?”

“A bit of metal punctured you. They were also worried about a head injury but you opened your eyes early on and squeezed the doctor’s fingers when she ask-“

Merlin propels into the room, gasping as if he’s run all the way from home as opposed to just the cafeteria on the level below. “Arthur!” Arthur looks past Lance and immediately frowns because Merlin looks awful. He’s paler than usual, and that’s an accomplishment considering Merlin is pretty white even on the best of days, with eyes that are bloodshot and hair in a greasy unkempt mess.

“Hey there, stranger.” He grins waiting for Merlin to smile back at him.

Instead Merlin swipes a hand over his face and steps forward only to sag into the chair by his bedside. “Bloody hell.”

“I’m okay. It looks worse than it really is.”

“Your face-“

“-is gorgeous even though I got hit by a truck thank you very much.”

Merlin’s eyes go to the bandage and he tentatively reaches out. His fingers slide down one side of the bandage and Arthur’s muscles twitch at the touch. It feels like a new experience – the touching…it’s been too long. Arthur barely holds in a gasp – he doesn’t want Merlin to stop.

“You scared the crap out of me,” Merlin murmurs.

Arthur reaches down and takes Merlin’s hand in his own and squeezes. He feels a swell of emotion as he takes note of the ring that’s found its way back onto his husband’s ring finger. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay? You look worse than I do.”

Merlin laughs wetly, covers their clasped hands with his other one and stands. “You always say the nicest things to me.” He eyes the bed and looks hesitant. “Can I…would it be okay…”

Arthur bites back a groan as he lifts the side of the sheet and tilts his head invitingly. “C’mon love, mind the wires though.”                                      

* * *

**January 2003**

The accident was a stop gap, a nice moment of reprieve that lulled them into a false sense of security. Nothing was resolved. The same issues were there, lingering resentments bubbling under the surface.

It’s only been a few months after the accident. And things had been good. There was laughter and teasing and they went to family pizza nights and babysat the twins or Juliet when their friends needed a break. Merlin’s books finally began to reach America where they quickly found spots on the best seller list of the New York Times.

Everything was good.

Until it wasn’t.

The new year was supposed to bring hope.

“You don’t want this.” Merlin pulls back from the table and sighs to himself leaving Arthur bereft.

Arthur picks up another brochure and smiles at the pictures. “Of course I do.” Because he does want this – despite what Merlin might be thinking – he so wants a family with Merlin. “It’s just not the right time.” But Arthur is also realistic – they’re young, he’s only twenty-three. They’ve got support both emotionally and financially – that’s fine, but they’re young and Arthur works with the police and there’s someone out there still taunting him with dead bodies and notes with their name on it.

“But when is there going to be a right time?”

He hasn’t told Merlin about the notes addressed to them. They’ve all agreed that Merlin isn’t a target, not really. Arthur’s notes are the ones containing disdain and vitriol, each letter is a slash, each word is a reckoning. He can handle this. Merlin doesn’t need to know.

“Later, definitely later, but not now.” He offers Merlin another smile. “Merlin, we’re both busy people. We barely see each other on a good day,” he reasons. 

Merlin’s face crumples a little. “I’ll stop doing book tours. I can stay at home. Or you could quit and be a full timer, or we can switch…we can make this work.”

Arthur pushes the brochure away and stands up. “We can, but not now.”

* * *

**May 2003**

“Will’s sick,” Merlin says one day out of the blue as he sits on the deck of their back garden with his hands folded around a cup of tea. “I didn’t know how to tell you. Arthur he’s like really sick. They can’t help him. He’s travelling overseas. To die. He’s going overseas to die.”

Arthur thinks back and now the last few months may actually make some sense. Why Merlin’s been on edge and snappy. “This is why you’ve been so angry.”

“He won’t let me go with him.”

He sits down next to Merlin and presses against him, brings Merlin’s head down to rest on his shoulder. “Who’s going to be with him?”

“His mum, and his little sister, I think. I begged him to let me be there, but he said he didn’t want me there. He said it wouldn’t be fair to any of us, and I don’t get it.”

And neither does Arthur until a few weeks later. The landline rings, and Arthur answers hearing Will’s mother’s voice crack. Merlin’s out with Lance and Gwaine but he doesn’t tell her nor does she ask to speak to Merlin. Arthur listens to Will’s mother cry down the phone; promises her that he’ll tell Merlin that Will loved him so very much

A few days later he comes home to find a letter on the kitchen counter addressed to him.

The paper is cheap, the envelope slightly crinkled and curling at the edge. As he thumbs it open he finds there is no return address.

_I still don’t understand why Merlin loves you but he does. Christ, even when he complains about you, you can tell._

_I wanted him with me, it would’ve been so easy to say ‘yes, I want you to be the last person I see, will you do that for me Merlin?’ And he would’ve said yes, we both know he would’ve because Merlin is so fucking loyal. Even though he married you he would’ve wanted to here and you know what, I don’t think he would’ve come back. And if he did, he wouldn’t come back as the Merlin you knew._

_We used to fight for bits of him, remember? But he chose you. You hear that, he chose you._

_So that’s why Merlin’s not with me. Because I’m giving him up._

_But I’m not giving him up for you. I’m giving him up for him._

_Look after him Arthur._

Arthur snorts because he’s trying, Christ he’s trying.

A few months later Arthur here’s the front door close whilst he’s upstairs. He goes down to see his husband. He wants to greet him and kiss him on the cheek but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches Merlin from the corridor, sees Merlin reach up into the kitchen cupboards. Merlin turns around his gaze vacant as they flick over to where Arthur stands. And with that, Arthur retreats, he slinks back upstairs continues cleaning out his bedside drawer. He finds the note again and crushes it in his fist because Will may have given Merlin up, but Merlin’s still lost to him.

* * *

**August 2003**

“Arthur, what are you doing here?” Merlin stares at him as he pulls out a pair of jeans from the washing machine. Merlin’s hair is ruffled, glasses askew on his face.

“I’m just doing the laundry.”

“I didn’t know you were home,” Merlin says quietly, his voice oddly strained. Arthur looks at him, and stands straighter. Merlin’s got a few days of facial hair of him and Arthur is struck with something unsettling. Last time I saw you, you were clean shaven…

Merlin rubs at his jaw self-consciously. “Yeah, sorry about that. How’s it going?”

They’re making small talk. Oh my god. Arthur pulls out another handful comprised of shirts and socks.

Merlin shifts on his feet. Arthur can feel his eyes on him. “Fine…it’s going fine…I’ll let you get back to it then.”

“Right then.” Arthur nods once, throat suddenly tight as he watches Merlin walk away from him.

* * *

**November 2003**

There have been flashes of it - of that word - dancing in front of his eyes. Arthur’s imagined his lips giving form, voice and power to it. He’s imagined; his mind running wild with the aftermath of what could be.

_“You wanted me to do this. You can’t just tell me to stop…”_

Only flashes, though.

He would never do it. Not really. He’s thought about it though; a flight of fancy for when they’ve become particularly vicious. For when shouting and swearing is pushed away in favour of silence and for when the company of others is more favourable to the company of each other.

_“...we never see each other. I want you to make time…”_

He won’t ever say the words but he thinks about it, like right now. Silence has been ignored. Shouting seems to be on the agenda, and for the life of him Arthur can’t work out why. Merlin is pacing the length of the hallway, sprouting chastisements and radiating hurt that Arthur wants to kiss away.

Arthur’s not allowed to touch, though.

_“You don’t work like I do!”_

Stray tears drip down Merlin’s face, and Arthur wants to hug Merlin, to pull him into his arms and never let go. Arthur wants to offer him tissues and funny anecdotes because he wants to see Merlin break out into a watery grin, let out a little huff, roll his eyes through the tears.

Arthur doesn’t know what they’re fighting about.

_“Arthur, you aren’t even here!  I mean…now…and I don’t know how to help you.…”_

He won’t say the words.

He won’t break Merlin’s heart.

And he refuses to break his own.

But Merlin is angry. Not violent. Never violent. But angry enough that Arthur’s breath catches in his throat.

They make each other unhappy.

He rolls the words around in his head. The ones that he never wants to let out into the world. When he thinks about it, though-

_“Arthur, it’s not fucking fair! You can’t just…”_

-in the midst of everything, he’ll take note of the lines of Merlin’s neck, or the blue of Merlin’s eyes as they flash in anger, and Arthur just can’t see the point of destroying them.

_“...we don’t work anymore...oh; fuck...I think we need to split up permanently. I can’t stay married to you.”_

Arthur doesn’t see the point. Merlin apparently does. “Arthur, say something?”

The words ring in his ears. They shouldn’t be surprising. He’s been thinking them. The words have been rattling around in his skull on nights where he’s stayed with Morgana and on days that he’s taken an extra shift to avoid coming home.

He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is.

He knew it would hurt, but he didn’t think it would feel quite like this. 

He’s not feeling anything at all.

Merlin’s back rests against the wall. His hands are on his knees, and he’s breathing in deeply as if he’s been running a marathon or running away from a monster.

 _What was this?_ Arthur wants to ask. _A marathon, or a monster?_

"Arthur?” Say something. Please?”

 _What?!_ Arthur wants to shout. In the realm of every conceivable phrase imaginable, what’s the phrase that will take back Merlin’s words. He wants to ask, but if the answer is nothing, then there’s no point.

Merlin wants.

So Arthur will give.

“What are we going to tell everyone?”

Arthur stops and turns to Merlin. "Nothing yet.”

“Are we …too calm?” Merlin asks. “Shouldn’t one of us be begging the other to reconsider?”

Arthur frowns. “You want to take it back?” It feels like a test or a manipulation to see just how much he’s willing to fight for them. He stares hard at Merlin’s face and feels a frisson of anger shoot up his spine.

“No.”

“Good. Glad you’re happy then. I’m going to stay with my sister.” He doesn’t turn around to see Merlin sinking onto the steps of the staircase, head in his hands. Instead, he closes the front door and begins his walk. When he passes the end of his fence he pulls out his phone and calls his sister.

“Morgana, can I crash on your couch?”

“Sure, but what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Snatches of conversation trail behind him like an omnipresent shadow.

“ _You’re a condescending arse, you know that right?”_

_“Why won’t you talk to me anymore...”_

_“Merlin, when are you coming home? You aren’t? Then why the hell didn’t you tell me when I could’ve changed my shifts? Busy? No, that’s inconsiderate...”_

_“I thought you said you wanted to wait? So which one of us would leave their job? And why would you assume that I’d do it…”_

* * *

**January 2004**

A few weeks later he comes home to the sounds of swearing and various thumps coming from the sound of his bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Arthur steps behind Merlin, bag hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Merlin doesn’t lift his head. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you’re leaving."

"Your powers of observation are astounding."

Arthur sighs pulling of his tie and smacking Merlin across the back with it as he sits on the bed. "You should stay here." There’s no real anger in him. He’s been waiting for those five stages of grief to come and hit him like a tidal wave but...nope, not tidal wave. There’s not even a ripple in sight.

"I came up with the bloody idea so I should go." 

"Don't be an idiot. Stay, really. This is our home." It’s their home. He doesn’t think that he can ever think of it as anything else.

Merlin blinks. “Arthur, you don’t really get this divorce thing do you?” Merlin stares at him with his hands on his hips, and mouth pursed.

“I totally get it.”

“You do? Great, so you know that it technically means that we shouldn’t be living together right?”

Arthur shrugs. “Technically divorce does not mean anything of the sort. And just because I get it, doesn’t mean I have to subscribe to kicking you out of your own home. Where would you go - to Hunith?”

Merlin hasn’t told Hunith yet. If he had, then Arthur would’ve gotten a phone call from both her and his father demanding an explanation. “I haven’t told her yet,” Merlin says avoiding his eyes. Arthur gets off the bed and leaves, leaving Merlin to pack in peace.

* * *

  **April 2004**

“Okay, you all said that you had an announcement to make.” Lance says placing the salad on the table

Clutching at Uther’s sleeve, Hunith bites her lip before bursting out with: “You’re giving me grandchildren!” Half the people in the room break out into excited chatter, all of them asking questions and beginning to offer their congratulations.

Arthur doesn’t know what it is about the word grandchildren, or even children for that matter that makes everyone stop what they are doing and think and talk about nothing else for an insurmountable amount of time.

“I thought you were going to tell her!” he whispers to Merlin who looks pale still staring at his mother. Arthur casts a look in Uther’s direction watching him smile and nod as Hunith continues to gush about baking cupcakes with her ‘darling grandbaby’. 

“I…didn’t know how,” he returns weakly.

 _Fucking brilliant._ He pinches the bridge of his nose and claps his hand. “Oh god…everyone!” Arthur shouts. The voices stop, all eyes trained on him. “It’s the complete opposite of that sort of news.” He turns to Merlin who is looking at the floor. “Come on, you want to do the honours or shall I?” he says letting his anger bleed through. 

Merlin sighs. “Arthur…”

“No, okay. We,” he says pointing between himself and Merlin, “are getting divorced. Sorry, Hunith.” He sees the shock on her face and immediately feels bad, but then he reasons, Merlin should have warned her, but he didn’t and now Arthur has to play the bad guy. “No grandchildren, not from me at least.” He can’t stay in the room. “Enjoy your dinner,” he finishes into his room.

Merlin walks in minutes later, closing the door and leaning with his back against it. “Well this was a clusterfuck.”

Arthur laughs hollowly. “You didn’t tell her.”           

“I didn’t know how to.”

 _Oh what a mess we’ve made_ , Arthur thinks. “Judging from the look Lance and Gwen sent me, I take it they knew.”

“Yeah…Gwaine is going to be absolutely pissed at me.” 

A knock of the door interrupts their conversation. “Come in!” Merlin moves aside.

Percy opens the door, watches them both with cautious eyes. “Sorry to interrupt but you’ve still got a roomful of shocked people who don’t know what to do. Over there,” he jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen.

“Fuck,” Merlin says. “This was…such a bad idea.”

“I can tell everyone to clear out.” He offers them both a cautious smile. “You don’t need to deal with us. Not tonight.”

“It’s okay, let them stay if they want – we’ve still got the food,” Arthur offers. 

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” Merlin agrees leaving the room to corral everyone into filling their plates. 

Percy continues to hover by the door before finally making a decision to close the door behind him. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” he says sincerely.

Arthur shrugs and rubs at his eyes suddenly finding himself inexplicably tired. “Not your fault.”

Percy nods. “True, but I’m still sorry.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Gwaine’s furious…more at Merlin for not telling him anything but…if he says anything to you try not to take it to heart.”

“I know.”

“You know where to find me if you need someone to talk to.” Having said his piece, he stands up and heads to the door. “You want me to fix you a plate? You don’t have to go out there.”

Whilst he’d like nothing more than to hide away in the room from the curious eyes of his friends, he knows that it isn’t going to solve anything. Merlin and him, they decided on the rip of the bandaid approach to telling their friends and family. Made it a dinner because they felt it was the least that they could do before dragging them into their blackhole of a future divorce.

He stands up, wiping his palms on the material of his jeans. Well Arthur, it’s time to face the music. This is happening. No turning back now. “I do.”

* * *

**September 2004**

It feels like they’re at war.

Arthur straightens his tie, checking its position in the bathroom mirror. He wants to loosen it. He probably could but this suit is his armour – it needs to be done up properly, can’t have something slip through and wound him. _Fuck it_ – he loosens it, only a little – he’s already bleeding.

Merlin had called his own lawyer and Christ he did not know that Merlin had his own lawyer, and he wants to scream at the fact that this is how he got to find out about it.

Uther firmly suggested, i.e. strongarmed his own personal lawyer to oversee Arthur’s side in the proceedings and Arthur couldn’t help but hug his father barely managing to whisper his thanks because he only sluggishly made his way through a quarter of the paperwork before his eyes stung and he crawled into the bottom of a bottle.

His lawyer peaks his head in. “Arthur, come on.” Arthur takes one last look at himself in the mirror and pushes himself away from the sink. He follows at his lawyers heels until they reach a conference room. He takes his place, breathes in deeply and waits.

Merlin and his lawyer walk in and take their seats.

“At the last meeting there were concerns about the equality of assets considering Mr Pendragon’s family background.” Merlin’s lawyer flicks out a sheet of paper from his file and pushes it across the table.

“Arthur doesn’t take money from his father – he’s self-sufficient.”

“But my client’s considerable success provided a boost to their economic status. Wouldn’t you agree that it would be remiss not to take that into account?”

“There was no prenuptial agreement. Arthur is entitled to half.”

Merlin’s lawyer’s gaze sweeps dismissively over Arthur and wow, now Arthur feels like something lower than dirt. “Arthur didn’t do anything to deserve it.” Fuck that is brutal. Arthur reaches for the bottle of water on the table and barely controls the shake of his hand as he unscrews the cap and takes a mouthful. “I want the flat.”

Merlin looks up from the table quickly. “What?” He feels the gaze of Merlin’s lawyer burn a hole through his forehead.

“I don’t…” Arthur glances at his own lawyer before addressing Merlin. “I want the flat.”

“Mr Pendragon, considering the location and general condition of the flat it was a serious investment on both your parts-“

 _You’re a completely dickhead, where did Merlin find you?_ Arthur wonders. Seriously, the guy’s hair is slimy and his suit is shiny and he’s every bit the sleazy corporate arsehole that Merlin would’ve never engaged with, or so he thought. “My father bought it for us-“

“Exactly, for you both. And since you are no longer an ‘us’, we need to figure out a suitable way to compensate Mr Emrys if he were to give up the flat-“

“I don’t want anything from him. He can have everything else, I just want the flat. Merlin keeps his money and the house and whatever else he wants. I just want the flat.” The flat is good. The flat was happy. They were so fucking happy.

Merlin’s lawyer stands and looks down at Merlin who’s staring at Arthur. “Mr Emrys are you amenable to his request?’

“Yes but-“

“Then consider it done. Mr Pendragon retains the flat.”

* * *

**March 2005**

"Where did we go wrong?" Merlin’s voice sounds so small. It’s as if he’s been hollowed out like a pumpkin, gutted like a fish, or - Arthur swallows – feels like he’s unloved. He stares balefully at the objects on the coffee table.

They’re moving out the last of Arthur’s belongings. Merlin insisted on coming home…back to help and with it he brought the final forms to sign.

Arthur sighs, leaning back into the couch and tapping his teeth with his pen.

This is shit, but it’s not - it isn’t bad. In the long run, they might be happier. Maybe? "We didn't do anything wrong." It’s true. Arthur knows that it’s true…but that’s only up to a point.  He’s kept a secret and apparently pushed Merlin away in the process.

Merlin scoffs, leaning back as well. "Clearly that's not true, otherwise we wouldn't be here right now."

But Merlin…

Arthur taps the pen against his teeth again.

Merlin looks over at him. "Christ, I hate it when you do that.”

Merlin’s become cold.

"Well, then lucky you won't have to put up with it for much longer," Arthur bites back.

Merlin hunches a little, and leans forwards again bracing his elbows on his knees.

"Sorry," Arthur sighs. "Merlin?" 

"Don't apologise. I, it's true."

Arthur nods, feeling his stomach drop. "It's true." And now his voice sounds hollow just like Merlin’s.

“I need tea,” Merlin murmurs, pushing himself off the couch and fleeing into the kitchen. There’s no offer to Arthur. That sort of thing disappeared slowly. Fighting together became fending for oneself, and he still can’t pinpoint where that particular break occurred.

Arthur pulls his mobile out and texts Morgana getting :’( in response

"Should we-"

"Merlin."

"Right…Just, shit, this is hard," Merlin says pressing the palm of his hand across his mouth.

Arthur scoffs. "It's meant to be. Imagine what it would mean if it were easy."

“Arthur, don’t.” Merlin whispers in pain. "And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not be imagining this at all."

He doesn’t point out that Merlin’s the one who wanted this.

The clock strikes five.

"Okay. Give me the pen."

Wordlessly, Arthur hands the blue pen over and watches misty-eyed as Merlin leans forward and opens up the pages. Merlin scans through the first few lines and Arthur waits with baited breath as he finds the one tagged with a little red flag.

Merlin's hands are shaking.

"Arthur, I'm so sorry."

Arthur lets out a bitter laugh and closes his eyes. "Me, too." He can hear it, the scratching of pen against paper that sounds like a knife carving out his heart.

There's a tap to his hand, and he takes a moment. Just one more moment more - before reaching for the pen and searching for his own yellow flags. Arthur signs his name on the final line before sealing the papers in an envelope.

"We did the right thing." Merlin lifts his head up waiting for a confirmation. "Arthur?"

"Fuck, I can't think in here. I'm going to Morgana's." He gets his keys and walks back into the living room casting one last look at the two golden bands that sit overlapped together at the edge of the table.

Merlin will take the papers to their respective attorneys. Arthur will sweep the rings into their respective boxes, puts them with the rest of his belongings and puts them into his own car.

Arthur will drive to Morgana's.

Merlin will eventually drive to Gwaine's.

* * *

**March 2005**

“We did it,” he says feeling himself sway on his sister’s doorstep.

Morgana takes his arm leading him into the foyer of the house, the front door still open letting in the sounds of a world unconcerned with his personal upheaval  “You did it,” she repeats after him like she’s having trouble processing. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just made a very big mistake.”

“It’s a change. It’s scary.” She drags him towards the kitchen but he shakes himself out of her reach.

Leon appears in the doorway. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“If it’s okay with you, I kinda just want to go to sleep for a while.”

“Yeah of course. Your room is made up.”

“That’s Gana, night Leon.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy. It seems that big life altering decisions have a tendency to drive the Sandman away. Before he knows it, morning light streams through the thin curtains of the room. He rolls onto his side, rubbing his eyes and contemplates just faking tiredness through the rest of the day but his stomach rumbles angrily reminding him that he has neglected his nutritional health for the past few days.

As he clomps down the stairs and rounds into the kitchen he hears Morgana. “No, he won’t be coming in today…I don’t care what he says. Oh come off it, you don’t have the numbers to fire or suspend him so don’t even go there…They signed last night…Just give him today at least-“

“Is that-“

“No night shifts either.”

She’s calling him in sick. Arthur rushes towards her hand outstretched to snatch the phone away from her. “Morgana? You can’t do that!”                                 

“I’ll speak to you later.”  She hangs up moving around the kitchen island and leaning against the counter by the sink. “What happened last night, Arthur. What did you do?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You know what I did.”

“I want you to say it aloud.”

“No.”

“Why not? It’s done. You can move on now,” she presses with a sardonic smile planted across her face.

He scrubs a hand over his jaw and fires back. “Morgana, I can’t just go off shift!”

Her face transforms into something that exudes mild annoyance. “Settle, Arthur,” she murmurs, and he turns his back to her, reaching up into the overhead cabinet for a mug. “Tell me what you did yesterday. Say the word out loud. Not, ‘we broke up’ or ‘we left each other’. Give me the actual word.”

He slams his mug on the counter and spins around. “I…we, we finalised the divorce…my divorce…I got divorced.”

“And it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since.”

Less than twenty-four hours? _Jesus_ , he’s a divorced man and he’s only twenty-five. One relationship – he’s only had one, and he fucked it up and got divorced—he shakes his head trying to dispel those thoughts before they have him plunging head first down through the rabbit hole. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

Moving to his side, and filling his mug with coffee, Morgana bumps him in the shoulder. “You aren’t going to be doing nothing. Today you’re going to keep me company whilst we watch _Saw_.”

“You aren’t allowed to watch that movie. Father banned you from it.”

“And I’m going to break that ban and watch it.”

“You’re going to cry out of fear.”

“Which is why I need you here,” she sings with a stupid grin on her face and holds out the mug.

Wrapping his fingers around the accepted mug, he barely manages to restrain himself from shaking his head. “Just remember that Leon won’t allow you to keep a knife under your pillow.”

“I’ll just strap it to the outside of the bedframe then.”

“I’m too tired to argue with you.”

Morgana watches him for a few moments, her eyes gentle. “You should have told him. He deserved to know,” she murmurs, her face partially hidden behind her mug. “You just…you let him go.”

He did, but it was better in the long run wasn’t it? The notes for Arthur contained threats. The ones for Merlin were platitudes, kind words like _I enjoyed your novel…I would like to work with you on a project…I am better for you…I’ll wait until you are ready…_

“He wanted to go," he defends, reminder her that Merlin asked for the divorce, not him. "It was the right thing to do. It was my problem, not his.” He tries to control the expression on his face, already feeling his eyes beginning to water. “All that aside…I’m not sure when it happened but we stopped liking each other. And then…he stopped loving....”

His voice cracks and he closes his eyes.

He hears Morgana sigh. “I’m gonna put _Saw_ on..." Her phone beeps. "It's Mordred...he tried calling you." She sends him a text and passes the phone to Arthur. 

 

> Morgana told me - wish u had let me know. U ok?
> 
> _Message received 9;43AM_
> 
> Yeah, I'm fine.
> 
> _Message received 9:43AM_
> 
> What r u doing?
> 
> _Message received 9:44AM_
> 
> Protesting.if u want I can chain Merlin 2 top of tree & leave him there overnight??
> 
> _Message received 9:46AM_
> 
> They want 2 cut tree down - it'd look like accident??
> 
> _Message received 9:48AM_
> 
> Thought u likd him? & no it's ok
> 
> _Message received 9:50AM_
> 
> Ur my bro. R u sure?"
> 
> _Message received 9:51AM_
> 
> Sure. Thnx. Go & protest. Don't get on the news or arrested tho!!
> 
> _Message received 9:54AM_

* * *

**September 2005**

He breathes into his hands in a vain attempt to reheat his fingers. _Shoulda worn gloves,_ he thinks and makes to knock at the wooden door again. The text called for urgency, so here he is, on a Wednesday night having just come off of a suspected overdose.

When the door finally opens, he sees Gwaine, sweat pants decorated in coloured ink and shirt dotted in what appears to be blood _\- sauce_ , Arthur corrects, idly scratch his chin. “Hey, mate, come in.”

Immediately, his eyes scan the house, finding nothing amiss. “You said it was urgent.”

“I did, didn’t I?” The murmur is thoughtful, but a look at Gwaine’s face tells him that his concern was sorely misplaced. There’s a bit of amusement. Tiredness too, but that look’s been there since the twins arrived.

Arthur holds in his sigh of relief and scrubs a hand over his face. “You did. And now I see that it was bull-“

Gwaine smoothly cuts him off before the swear breaks free. “A lie, yes.” He goes off further into the house, not bothering to check whether Arthur is following. “Rugrats, come say hello to Uncle Arthur!”

Percival comes over to greet him, still drenched in water, a puff of soap suds still resting on his shoulder. “I still can’t believe they gave you children.” The words are meaningless and said with a smile because he can totally see why they were given children.

Arthur claps his hands, and looks down at the two onesie clad children. “All right. B1, B2…” They look blankly up at him. “They don’t…”

“Not interested.” Gwaine whistles at them both. “Boobah.”

The kids scream and run to the TV.

“That’s frightening.”

“Wait until you see the show.” Gwaine says ominously.

An hour later, Arthur walks into the kitchen slightly dazed. There were so many colours, and noises, and their eyes made creepy noises and they didn’t fucking say anything. What the fuck kind of educational value is there in no words, spinning around and falling repeatedly? The boobs? Is that what he’s meant to call an individual thing? It? They? Or are they all boobahs. Finally he manages to whisper, “Are your kids high?” He pauses consideringly before his eyes widen, “Am I high?”

Gwaine laughs at him like the bastard he is. “No sense, right?”

“And they understand that?”

“Apparently they do,” Gwaine says watching his two troops march towards them.

“So little monsters. What’s for dinner?” Arthur asks, spinning around. 

The twins emerge hand in hand. “Bash.”

“Bangers and mash,” Percy translates now dry. He lifts a child under each of his arms and carries them off to the dining room, laughing as they squirm.

As the sound of giggling dies down, Arthur turns around back to Gwaine. “Didn’t think you’d have me over,” he says honestly, looking at Gwaine who slows his movements.

Gwaine sighs, wiping down kitchen counter. “I had Merlin over two nights ago.”

“Good.” Arthur says. “That’s good.”

They sit in silence for a moment before Gwaine speaks. “I’m not going to cut you off.”

And what is he meant to say to that other than: “Thank you.” The relief he feels is palpable. Gwaine’s eyes grow wide and his mouth drops open.

“Shit, you really thought I was going to?!”

Because yes, he had thought…Gwaine was Merlin’s friend first. Hell, he thought they only got along because Merlin wanted them too. “I wasn’t going to presume.”

Gwaine shakes his head and offers Arthur a small smile. “Too bloody noble, the pair of you.”

* * *

**December 2005**

There were warnings beforehand; in the shopping centres and in catalogues, it first appeared. Then it started showing up on the TV and radio. And people started to talk about It, and before he knew it, It had arrived.

“Arthur, you’re coming right?” Gwen sounds cautiously optimistic.

He moves his coffee table across his grey rug by his socked foot and sighs. “I’m not sure.”

“You have to. You’re dad’s done the house. Morgana and Leon have been helping him. He wanted a big, family Christmas…” her voice grows softer by the end of the sentence and he can just imagine her wincing at her words.

“I’m not going to be good company, Gwen.” He shrugs his shoulders as if she’s sitting right next to him instead of at home with Lance probably hovering around her. He tries to push away the pang of loneliness too. He could do with one of her hugs right about now.

“You shouldn’t keep yourself away. We love you, too,” she says softly. Arthur closes his eyes, leaning back into the couch and swallows through what feels like a whole length of razor blades.

“I know that.” _I do. I swear, I do._

The affirmation seems to placate her for now as the timidness makes way for disapproval. “Beer and a bag of pretzels do not make for a good Christmas.”

He doesn’t have it in him to argue. “I haven’t bought anyone presents.”

“We don’t want presents from you.”

“But the kids-“he starts because he won’t be that uncle – the shoddy one who ends up giving his nieces and nephews a fiver because he couldn’t be bothered to put in the effort.

“If it matters so much, you can chip in with me,” Gwen says quickly. And it appears that his gift dilemma is sorted. “Come for your father. I think he’s feeling guilty.”

Arthur scrubs a hand down his face. “What does he have to feel guilty about?”

There’s a bit of silence, the sound of distracted shouting and the dropping of a pan (or at least that’s his guess) before her voice comes back through the receiver. “I think he worries. Now I’m guessing - so don’t say anything to him - that because he hasn’t kept to a relationship, you couldn’t either…like he set a bad example.”

He winces because that’s exactly what his father would think and he feels unbelievably guilty for it. “That’s stupid, and you’re guilt tripping me now. Devious Gwen, didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Arthur, come on. One night. We won’t bother you until New Years, I swear it…well I can’t speak for Morgana, but I won’t.”

He stands outside of the house five hours later, arms laden with a few bags because despite Gwen’s offer he really didn’t want to be that uncle. But his first thought as he stands outside of the house is, Jesus Jolly Christ, this is not the right house.

The house looks like Santa Clause vomited all over it - tinsel wrapped around the banisters, wreathe on the door, a sprig of holly hanging on the frame above him. There is even a sleigh on the snow- covered lawn with a red-nosed reindeer hitched to it.

He knocks on the door again and steps back, finding it difficult to reconcile this house with his father who would forever ignore the holidays with his children in favour of company with his current tart of the week. “Arthur!”

Strains of “Jingle Bells” and the vision of his father in a garish red and white Christmas sweater greet him at the door. “Father.” He flicks his eyes to the hallway behind his father and sees Morgana wandering past, which does confirm, yes this is his father’s house, and his father, and his father’s Christmas sweater, and not a parallel universe.

“Come in!” His father says bringing an arm in around his shoulder as he shuts the door behind them. “People are…everywhere,” he says disconcerted – as if he wasn’t the one to invite everyone here in the first place. “You can put them under the tree if you want. I’ll get you a drink.”

Arthur, following his father’s instruction puts the gifts under the tree. He spies Morgana leaning against a wall in the corner of the room and goes up to her. “He hasn’t introduced me to someone new.”

Morgana busses his cheek and offers him her glass of wine. “He’s taken a break,” she says as he takes a sip.

“Since when?”

“Since you, stupid.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried.” He notices his father watching him with a glass and plate of food in hand

“I think he misses Hunith.”

Wait, no way, just…really? Arthur blinks chewing over the information and feeling a small amount of dread run through his stomach. “No…”

“They’re like best friends,” she continues.

“You mean that they—”

And at this she throws her head back and laughs, takes a quick glance at his probably horrified face, and laughs again. “God, no. She was happy with staying single or at least I presume she is. And he,” she says gesturing at their father who looks like he wants to interrupt but is afraid to, “well he is happy playing the field.”

Arthur groans. “Must you say that? I feel like you forget that he’s our father.”

“Do you think he’s going to announce that we have a sibling?” Her eyes sparkle with mirth as she takes back her now empty wine glass.

 _That’s what you get for saying that,_ Arthur thinks smugly as she scowls at him. “We do have a sibling. Mordred, remember?”

“I mean another one.”

“You don’t actually think that he’d—“

“I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s going to want to talk to you privately, just a heads up.”

“Oh save me please.”

“Shut up and deal with it.”

Morgana raises her empty glass tilting it a little in Uther’s direction. He seems to take it as the signal to move in and does so swiftly as Morgana makes her exit.

“Arthur, if I may.”

“Morgs said that you wanted to talk to me,” Arthur deadpans.

His father leans against the wall and nudges his shoulder. “It’s your first Christmas without him.”

“It’s your first holiday season without Hunith,” he counters. Christmas was a non-event in their household but somehow Hunith always managed to get them together.

“Touche.” And Arthur see’s that Uther’s looking wistful. Uther catches his glance and waves his hand. “We weren’t like that though,” Uther frowns at him. “You know that right? I value her friendship too much to try.”

“I know father.”

Uther takes a sip from his glass. “How have you been coping?”

“I’m fine…you know, how it is. Work keeps me busy. It always picks up at Christmas.” Arthur’s found that the criminal class doesn’t seem to like having a holiday much.

Uther turns to him concerned, worry lines marring his face, and eyes inexplicably sad. “Arthur, you’ve just been through a very stressful event. Do you know what the most stressful life event is? It’s death of a spouse. Divorce comes second to that.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing that Merlin only divorced me then isn’t it,” Arthur snipes.

Uther doesn’t flinch but it’s a near thing. “Arthur,” he murmurs low, tinged with a degree of hurt.

And with that Arthur feels like an arsehole. He lightly hits his fist against the wall and sighs. “Sorry,” he apologises quickly and offers his father a smile. “I’m sorry…that was totally uncalled for, considering what happened to you and mum.”

“Your mother would know what to do about you.”

“About me?”

“I mean the comforting.” Uther pats his shoulder before sliding it around his back to pull him into a one armed hug. “I acknowledge that I’m out of my depth a little.”

Arthur rolls his eyes at his words because his father was never bad – just slightly emotionally stunted. “You do pretty alright,” he says with a squeeze. “Whatever you do, don’t send Morgs in.”

Uther laughs heartily at that. “I know that much.” He pinches Arthur’s side. “I also know that you let her watch Saw.”

“She insisted!” Arthur defends himself with a laugh as Uther mock glares at him.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you came here tonight.”

“Yeah, me too.”

* * *

**February 2006**

The lights are dim, and there are colourful shots. This time he downs a bright orange one and clumsily pulls out his phone.

“Mate, what are you doing?” Leon sounds so concerned. Leon’s lovely. Lovely Leon.

Arthur hushes Lovely Leon, waving the rest of them off before speaking into the phone. “Morgana?”

His sister! “Arthur?”

“You’d never divorce Lovely Leon?” he asks, because it’s important and he needs to be sure that the answer is no. He smacks his forehead.  No, stupid Arthur, she’d never divorce him because she loves Lovely Leon.

“Are you drunk?”

“Tipsy,” he giggles. _Tip-sy._

“Arthur, hand me the phone, yeah?” Leon says reasonably with his hand held out. _Aww, Lovely Leon wants to say hello_! “Lovely Leon says hello!” he reports dutifully and then watches doubtfully as he hears Leon say that that wasn’t what he was going to say. “He doesn’t say hello,” he amends. He gasps because Leon just swore. “He says, ‘fuck you’!”

“Drunk dialling moron.” Gwaine barely holds in a laugh and Arthur’s not quite sure why Gwaine is out with him. Gwaine… _G-waine_ …Glorious Gwaine with Glorious hair… “Quit touching me,” Gwaine says and takes his arm.

“No, I want the-“ Arthur starts because one of them is taking the phone away from him and he was talking to…he was talking to someone. “Lemme go! Glorious Gwaine! Pretty Perce! You wouldn’t leave another.” He needs to know. He needs to know right now.

“Nah mate, I’m not leaving Gwaine,” Percy says slinging an arm around his waist and tucking him into his side. Arthur looks up at the giant and pushes his face into Percy’s chest. “You’re going to be so hung over tomorrow morning.”

“No tomorrow,” Arthur whines.

Percy’s so nice. Gwaine’s so lucky. “There’s always tomorrow,” Percy says. 

“No, don’t wanna, withou’ Merlin.”

He doesn’t see the looks traded between them, but he does hear low rumbles. “They’re miserable,” Gwaine says.

Percy pat’s his back a few times. “They’re divorced.”

Arthur turns his head and looks up at Percy who’s looking at Gwaine sadly. “Merlin was crying into his drink when we went out. We had to stop him from calling him, remember?”

Arthur snorts and presses his face back into Percy’s chest. _As if,_ he thinks bitterly.

Leon sighs. “I still don’t know what they were thinking.” Gwaine hums in agreement downing one of Arthur’s unfinished shots, a blue one this time. 

Percy strokes Arthur’s back gently, encouraging him to fall asleep. He’ll carry Arthur out into the car, no issues about it.

* * *

**June 2006**

“Bonding session!” David puts his arm around Arthur’s shoulder and gives him a little shake. “There’s meant to be a food market on. What do you say?”

Arthur glances at David quickly before going back to writing his report. A hand wiggles into his vision, the other covering the sheaf of paper, leaving Arthur with no choice but to look up again. “No.”

David is big and burly and the biggest puppy that Arthur’s ever met. He’s a trade in for Lance. “Come on, grumpy. I’m here and meant to back you up, but I’d like to know whether you’re worth getting decked for.”

Arthur puts his pen down ignoring David’s grin – it’s as if he knows that he just won. “You saying that if I don’t go with you, next time someone tries to punch me, or god forbid stab me, you’re going to let it happen as punishment?”

“Yup.”

 _Fuck paperwork_. “Right, so this place has crepes?” Arthur says standing up and gathering his belongings.

“Knew you’d come around.”

When they finally reach the market Arthur takes in a big sniff and wow, he’d be drooling if he wasn’t in public. “Oh my god, what is that?”

Next to him David point to a stall that’s illuminated in orangey light. “There…we are starting there.” He zooms off like the giant six foot five toddler he is, towards the stall, turning around half way to see if Arthur is coming.

Arthur gives a wave indicating he’s on his way when he bumps shoulders with someone. He turns to apologise, the market is busy, it’s dusk, he’s being polite except – “Merlin.”

Why couldn’t the ground open up and swallow him…like really…

“Hi,” Merlin says. He glances around a little as if he’s waiting for someone to jump out and frighten him. 

Merlin’s hair is a little longer, curling around his ears more, and reaching a little past the base of his neck. “How are you doing?” Arthur manages to ask.

Merlin nods his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Brilliant!” he says quickly and then as if realising that maybe Arthur doesn’t want to hear how well he’s doing without him, amends himself with a more sombre, “Yeah, good. I’m writing another book, so I’m a bit of a hermit at the moment.”

“Right. Same sort of story or—”

“Branching out a bit, actually. Sort of moving into the future,” Merlin huffs depreciatingly. “Well, I say future but it’s still like, medieval times – an honest to god, romance novel.” He must catch the look on Arthur’s face because he continues with, “I know. Bit odd, considering, but I thought the challenge would do me good.”

“Do you have much of it written?”

“A bit. I’ve got a plan that I’m trying to follow.”

“Will it be a happy ending?” He tries to keep the question light, even though he knows that there’s a hidden meaning to it. He wonders if he’s being obvious.

At Merlin’s sad look, he clearly is. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Arthur!” He turns his head at the sound of his name. “Been looking for you — here have a go at this.”

He immediately takes the pretzel and bites into it, suddenly feeling out of sorts with Merlin staring at him with wide-eyed astonishment.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I’m David,” David greets holding out one of his giant paws.

Merlin shakes his hand and looks up into his face. “It’s - I’m Merlin.”

“Oh…” David says trailing off sending a knowing look in Arthur’s direction. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. I quite enjoyed your novels. Thought they were brilliant. Arthur bought me a copy of the last one a few days ago while I was off sick. Read through half that night, well morning. You know?” he says enthusiastically.

“Glad you enjoyed it. I should — I should get going.” Merlin sends a quick wave in David’s direction and takes one last look at Arthur before disappearing into the crowd.

“Well, he seems like a right bastard,” David says with good-natured cheer. “You reckon he panicked a bit?”

“You didn’t…David!”

“Hey, mate, you could’ve interrupted at any time or explained everything ‘stead of stuffing your mouth of pretzel.”

He crushes the bag into a ball. “I was not.”

“It was a giant pretzel practically the size of my head. And now there’s nothing left but the bag.”

“Didn’t you get any for you?”

“Nah, don’t really like them.” He holds up the takeaway bag. “I got me some stuff. Let’s get some pizza.” Seriously, there is no way that Arthur’s gonna be able to keep up with him if they have to chase a suspect by foot. He’s already struggling and David’s just walking.

“It’s late. We’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Two days off and I spent nearly all of it with Kara trying to feed me rabbit-food. Now bless the lass — god knows I’m lucky to love her — but, I cannot survive on fibre and water alone. I’m getting some pizza with the lot and extra cheese, you with me or not?”

* * *

**August 2006**

“Arthur, come and cut the cake!”

“You cut it!” he grumbles from his position near the wall. The amount of balloons in the room is insane. He watches as Jacob chases Olivia around, the balloons kicking up like dust behind him. Olivia eventually latches onto his jeans shouting that she’s at the safe zone. “Go play, bub,” he says with a brief pat to her head. “Jakey, enough with the running. Play something else, hey?” As they toddle off he looks down at his phone again.

“It’s your birthday!” His phone is snatched away, and he finds himself pushed into the lounge room, forced to kneel before a chocolate mud cake.

It feels like an execution. He might be shot.

Or Morgana’s offering him as a sacrifice to some Chocolate God – he never knows when it comes to her.

A knife gets placed in his hand and he feels the tense anticipation. The kids are waiting, impatient. Percy has his arms wrapped around them, so they don’t get close enough to blow out his candles. Gwaine’s hovering over his shoulder.

Turning twenty-seven is such a nothing event but he waits as they sing. Leon’s recording the event with his video camera and Morgana’s hugging Juliet to her side. As the get to the final hip-hip-hooray Arthur blows out—

Nothing.

He blows out nothing because the candles are already blown out. Instead the smell of smoke settles in his nose and he looks up above his shoulder at Gwaine who blinks innocently back at him.

“Jesus, Gwaine!” he hears Percy admonish over the heads of the twins.

* * *

**November 2006**

“I’m moving.”

The music continues to play in the background; a tinny, pop tune that doesn’t belong no matter how hard it tries. Yet it strains to be heard over the din of the bar. Between the little lulls. Small spaces of dampened sound. It coasts over the surface, filling in the gaps until it’s pushed aside. Being drowned out by voices and movement. But the lull happens again, and it sweeps in. Only a few beats as if to say _I’m here. Are you listening-_

“-I said, are you listening to me Arthur?”

Arthur jerks in his seat and lets out a choked off little cough. He clears his voice. Merlin’s thigh is pressed against his own. They’re uncomfortably close in this tiny space. The packed bar is getting squishier, the space around them pushing them together.

“Yeah, Merlin,” Arthur clears his throat. “Where to?”

Merlin turns his head as he’s heard his name from somewhere in the masses – somewhere other than Arthur’s own mouth.

In profile, Merlin is sharp. Angular, defined and flawless. Arthur swallows a mouthful of beer that’s too bitter, too cold, and stares. Merlin’s Adam’s apple bobs; a movement that syncs up with a beat of Arthur’s heart.

Merlin turns back and picks up a cashew from the shallow dish.

Arthur fights the urge to smack it out of his hand. _How do you know that other people have washed their hands?_ he wants to shout.

“Mum said she wanted to go to Italy for a bit. Lance said he’d lease me his house there.”

Arthur kind of hates Lance right now. His fingers drop from the neck of the beer bottle down to the label. Condensation runs down the glass, running away from his fingers so they don’t get swept away like tears. “When do you think you’ll go?”

Merlin shrugs and smiles at Arthur, unaware that he’s grounding bits of Arthur’s heart with the heel of his well-worn shoes – shoes that Arthur had brought him. Arthur wonders if Merlin will notice. Will he feel that something’s different; tacky underfoot. “Soon. Lance said the place is ready for me whenever I want it. Just need to sort out some details with my publisher, and then I’ll be off.”

The pop song has stopped. Another one takes its place, and Arthur looks around, huffing frustration out of his nostrils as an elbow hits his back, punching his spine. “Italy sounds nice.”

“It’ll be strange,” Merlin muses. He taps his nail against his glass of water. Sensible Merlin, in this respect, one water for every alcoholic beverage. “I’ve never been out of the UK.”

Five years ago, those words would have been a precursor to a fight.

Arthur pushes that thought aside to dissect later. Aloud, he brings his hand up to the counter and clasps his hands together; the bottle between his palms, and feels the biting chill. “You’ll enjoy it. You might even get tanned,” his voice is rough. He clears his throat again.

Merlin releases a chuckle and takes another cashew.

It’s supposed to be better. Arthur catches his own gaze in the mirror that hangs across from him, partially covered in tall bottles of wine and spirits.

It looks like he’s hiding.

He sort of is.

“I won’t tan. I’ll burn.” There’s a wry note in Merlin’s voice with a hint of nostalgia. _Remember when I fell asleep in the sun and began to peel…_

People tell him that time heals all wounds. He wants to punch each and every one of them…even Gwen.

Another elbow skims his shoulder. His hands tighten instinctively around the bottle. So long now. Too long. He can’t shout. He doesn’t have the right anymore. _I was stabbed_ doesn’t mean shit if there isn’t blood gushing from the wound.

Merlin orders another drink.

“Bring sunscreen, and don’t forget to take a hat.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. The words slip out. Traitorous little bastards, his words are.

Merlin’s hand makes an aborted move across the space between them. His fingers dig into the wood, nail digging across the grain. Arthur’s eyes follow them as if possessed, always did. Merlin, the magnet he can’t repel, the drug he can’t give up.

But he did (at least on paper).

From the corner of his eye he sees Merlin duck his head. “Arthur…are you okay?” The first dregs of concern enter Merlin’s voice.

_Is he?_

“I’m fine.”

Apparently he is.

“Morgana said that you were going to visit your father.”

It’s the first he’s heard of it. He nods his head, paints a brittle smile on his face that’s wobbly in the corners. The Joker would laugh, tut fondly, not nearly high enough. Grab his face, blade at the ready; really give him something to smile about.

_The fucking cheek of him._

Merlin’s hand dares to cross again, and finally succeeds. A gentle pressure on his wrist that confuses Arthur. It makes him burn hot and cold. “Arthur?”

The dizzying relief has gone. It was there, once before. In the early days, it was there, and he could do this. It was what they both wanted. They were happy …again. He wants that - to be happy again. He misses it, remembers it. Arthur knows that it was nice.

They were good.

They worked together. The perfect duo. Like Batman and Robin – forever trusted and faithful. Or Sam and Dean who’d would rather watch the world burn than be forcibly kept apart.

Merlin’s fingers bare down, heavier, more insistent, press-til-it-hurts type of pressure that threatens to break the levee, spill over the banks.

Fine. Merlin wants him to talk, so he’ll talk. He never could deny Merlin anything. “Reckon you’ll come back?”

The warmth disappears, and Arthur tugs the sleeve of his jacket down, a vain attempt to save it or a show of defiance, he doesn’t know. He orders water and turns his head to Merlin. Merlin, who’s no longer in profile but still just as sharp. Merlin who looks flushed under hazy yellow light.

It starts and ends with Merlin.

He starts and ends with Merlin.

Arthur pushes the glass of water in Merlin’s direction, and Merlin takes it without question.

Father never said it would be like this.

Merlin wipes his lip with the back of his hand. A man pushes himself through the crowed, determination written across his face to reach his holy saviour in a bottle. Merlin tilts closer to Arthur.

Arthur hears the man order, watches a little tray of multi-coloured shots rise above the crowed, to be protected at all costs. Merlin doesn’t move back. “I won’t be gone forever. Hell, I’ll never be uncontactable. There’s Facebook and phones.”

Another lull, more music, voices picking up.

Arthur doesn’t have an account; never had a reason to get one. If people wanted to contact him, they could call, email or go to his home. He used to get his news from Merlin and Morgana, and his mates at work.

Now he gets his news from Morgana and his mates at work.

 _I want you,_ Arthur wants to say, _not bloody Facebook_.

A flat back presses against his own, and Arthur leans toward the edge of the counter – the line pressing across his chest. He straightens, shoving back and ignoring the muttered indignation. “I’m sure Morgana will show me pictures.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the Colosseum. Might do the tourist thing with the Leaning Tower.”

A snort erupts from Arthur. He can see it now. Merlin in the foreground looking larger than life, blue eyes squinting in the sun, pale (because Arthur can’t imagine him tanned), a look of intense concentration in his face. Palms up, “‘pressed”’ against the tower, holding it up as if he’s the last thing on Earth that can stop it from crumbling to the ground.

Merlin grins back at him. “Well I certainly can’t do that shit to Big Ben.”

 _I’ll miss you_. He doesn’t say it, but he wants to.

“Do tourists do that to Big Ben?”

“Dunno.” Merlin rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Saw one when it looked like the guy was holding Big Ben in his fingers.”

“It sounds like you’re confusing that with porn,” he replies with a smirk. It’s probably the first real expression that’s crossed his face since he sat on the stool and listened to Merlin’s intent to disappear.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You’re such a child.”

He’s in the process of lifting his beer to his mouth when he hears the phrase. His hand hasn’t stopped moving – the arc from bar-top to mouth, is completed, in the face of Merlin’s words.

It’s nothing new. He’s heard it before, many times in fact from Merlin himself. It shouldn’t hurt. But it does. If Merlin notices, he doesn’t say.

“I should go. You right to get back?”

Merlin nods.

Arthur pays his tab and walks over to the door.

As he crosses the threshold there’s a lull but no music to cover it.

* * *

**March 2007**

It began as a routine house call. Reports of shouting and crying in a tiny house, lined with knee high-hedges and a Mini Cooper in the driveway.

“The Thompsons’ residence,” he murmurs to himself, committing to a U-Turn.

David frowns. “Angela and Keith?”

“Fucking Angela.”

“Arthur, we should let someone else handle this.”

“We’re already on our way.”

“What do you expect to do? We can’t do anything without him agreeing, and with her there…”

“We go in, make nice and keep trying. Be there for him.”

“And what do you actually want to do?” His partner asks him the question with a knowing look.

“Nothing.” David scoffs. “I hope she dies,” he amends viciously as he indicates left and turns the wheel. “Keith’s a good kid - could cure fucking cancer if he wasn’t so terrified of her.”

David let’s out a whoosh of air and slumps back in his seat. “Just checking.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“Why he stays?”

Arthur shakes his head. “How you could claim to love them and still beat them to within an inch of their life.”

“You an’ me both mate.”

They’re greeted by a woman in bunny slippers clutching her purple housecoat tightly around her stomach. “It’s gotten quiet.”

“David,” Arthur says. “Go round the back.” David sighs. “Fucking go mate.”

“Hello? Anyone in? Keith, it’s me, Arthur!”

He makes his way down the corridor and swallows down the wave of unease that curls through him as his eyes catch a small trail of red leading into the bathroom.

“Keith?” He pushes the door open, sees the body lying awkwardly on the floor and internally sighs in relief watching Keith’s chest rise and depress with each breath taken. “Keith? Hey mate, can you hear me?” he asks crouching on the floor and gently turning him over, wincing at the gash on his head and then swearing at the red staining the side of his torso.

Keith’s eyes flutter under his eyelids. “Hey…” he slurs and blinks owlishly.

“Arthur, you alright there?”

“I need an ambulance here. Did you find her?”

“No, I think she’s gone.”

“Good.”

* * *

**July 2007**

“He did what?!” Morgana’s angry shout is enough to bring him out of his room, but not enough to make him walk down the stairs. Instead, he perches himself on the second one from the top and listens with his head resting against a vertical panel on the banister.

Gwen’s gentle ‘I know,’ is just audible.

“They eloped just like that?”

“He said, ‘why wait if it feels right’.”

“Because Arthur’s still a fucking mess.” He’d let out an offended ‘oi’ but he doesn’t want them to stop talking. Sure, he’s lost some weight and he hasn’t really gotten a full eight hours of sleep in what feels like forever but he’s not doing too badly.

“We can’t stop Merlin from living,” Gwen sighs and he notes that there’s a slip of irritation bleeding into Gwen’s voice.

Morgana seems to have picked up on it, thank god, if she had kept pushing things may have gotten ugly – Gwen’s the only one who seems able to verbally spar with Morgana. “It just seems like it’s easier for him,” she says sadly.

“It wasn’t. Morg’s, Merlin was devastated when he told me that he was planning to do it. He threw up on the way to the lawyer’s office.”

Arthur lets out a breath and pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes trying to hold back the tears that are suddenly filling them. “And yet he did it anyways.” Gwen’s words seem to strike something in Morgana whose voice has gotten angry yet again.

“Morgana you can’t be mad at him for this.”

“Just watch me.”

“That isn’t fair to Merlin,” Gwen reasons.

“Who gives a fuck? Merlin’s not here anymore.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. It’d be a waste of time.” Gwen kisses her cheek and let’s herself out with a small smile up to where Arthur sits crouched on the top of the stairs.

* * *

**August 2007**

“Leon, we’re going out.”

“We are?” Leon blinks at him as he pushes Jules back into the house as she tries to run through the front door. “Jules, you had a bath. To bed with you.”

Arthur kisses the ten year old on forehead and bids her goodnight.  “C’mon, Gwaine’s meeting us, too.”

“Okay…just, let me tell Gana.” He disappears, leaving Arthur to look out onto the quiet street. It’s getting darker, and the night is mildly warm. He’s here because he feels itchy at home – lonely. “What do you want to do?” Leon asks shrugging on a jacket and closing the door behind him.

“Get smashed.”

“Arthur-“ Leon grabs his shoulder disapprovingly but Arthur rolls his eyes.

He’s been thinking about it a lot. Merlin got married for crying out loud and what has he done? Nothing. He’s been…pining, for something that he isn’t going to get back no matter how much he wants it. So this is him, officially done pining. He meets Leon’s concerned gaze. “No. No pitying tone. I’m gonna get considerably wasted and then find someone to shag. It’s time.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.”

And he gets drunk – not that he feels it…but when he does he’ll recognise that he’s so amazingly drunk that his hangover will last him for at least a month. Or Gwaine will fill him in on the details. He’s not fussed about how he’ll find out.

Gwaine smirks and orders another tray of shots, pushing on across the table to Leon. Leon barely glances at it, instead diverting the glass towards Arthur.

One shot.

Two shot.

Red shot.

Blue shot.

Before Arthur really knows what’s happening he finds himself in the back of an alleyway with some guy’s tongue down his throat and his hands fisted in the guy’s shirt and…

“I’m sorry,” he says against the guy’s mouth, tilting his face until he can feel damp puffs of air against his ear. The guy stops, hands still on Arthur’s shoulders, tracing patterns through his shirt. “Fuck…” he says; because he wants this, he swears he does, except it feels like cheating and just Jesus fucking Christ. Merlin ruined me.

The guy sucks at his ear lobe and Arthur gasps. “You alright man?”

“Fine, I’m fine…” The words come out stilted.

The guy plants a kiss on his cheek before pushes Arthur away, keeping one point of contact – his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“You’re probably not fine,” the guy says wryly. “Listen I’m cool with being a rebound…but only if you want it too.”

“I want…” Arthur can already tell this is going to be a bust. His heart isn’t in it. 

The guy stares hit him assessing before coming in to drop a kiss on his lips. “No you don’t. Go to your friends; get them to take you home.” The guy pushes him back into the building towards a rough approximation of where Leon and Gwaine were last seen.

“Take care.”

“You too…” Arthur trails off unable to finish without a name.

* * *

**May 2008**

They’re trying to plan another birthday for Uther even though they’ve been forbidden to do so. Arthur is on the phone trying to find a venue and Morgana is trying to figure out the attendees.

“Hey, they said there’s nothing available on the Sunday, but they can do either night before or after,” he informs her dutifully.

She hum’s distracted by whatever’s on screen. “Yeah, it’s great - oh.” Surprise colours her face. He inwardly panics when it morphs into sadness.

“What? What’s the matter?”

She glances between him and the computer screen. “I…well, Merlin…”

Oh god…

“Is he all right?”

“No, he’s fine, more than fine actually,” she says stiltedly. “Uh…”

“Well what is it?”

“Arthur…he’s got a daughter; Freya gave birth to her yesterday.”

She looks at him like he’s about to break down. But he’s not. Honestly he’s not. “Let’s see her then,” he says, forcing his voice to come out cheery.

Merlin always wanted children. He got married and…and. Arthur internally shakes himself, feeling foolish. It’s the final nail in the coffin. A child. It douses the little flame that still kept burning in hope.

“Are you sure?” she asks him, a hand ready to push the laptop in his direction.

“It’s good news, I’m happy for him.” Really, he is. Morgana turns the laptop around to face him. The image he’s greeted with is of a slightly squished looking child with a tiny nose, and pouty lips. “She’s gorgeous,” he says honestly.

She looks at him in surprise. “Yeah. Hopefully she gets Freya’s ears,” she murmurs.

Merlin made a person.

Arthur doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, but gently shoves her arm. “Oi, his ears weren’t that bad.” And even if Merlin’s little girl has his ears, she’s going to be gorgeously cute anyways – he just knows it.

“I suppose not.” She nudges his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.”  He finally turns away and frowns at his phone. “Shit, they hung up on me. Did you want that place or not? ”

* * *

**March 2011**

“Crap, sorry!” He tries not to wince at the coffee scalding his hand.

“No, my fault,” he says.

A napkin in thrust in his direction, and he automatically begins wiping himself down. “I think I got some on your jacket,” the woman says. He looks down at himself and notes the slightly darker patch of green. “Will it stain?”

Yeah, it definitely will. He looks at her and smiles kindly because, accidents generally suck for everyone. “Probably not. Is there enough to tide you over or can I buy you another?”

The woman waves her hand. “Don’t mind me, but get yourself one. We can chat, call it even?”

“Sounds good.” He goes up to the counter and puts his drink order in, before walking to where the woman is perched on a stool in front of the large glass window of the café. “Should be out any minute. I’m Arthur.”

“Elena.” They shake hands and when they, stop Elena looks down at his hand that he placed on the table. “So no ring?” she enquires.

He looks down at his hand, finding his thumb already rubbing at where his ring used to sit. The tan line’s been missing for a long while now. “Ah, divorced.”

“I’m sorry.” She takes a sip. “Or not, you know if she was a crazy bitch, then it’s a good thing you divorced…unless you were a crazy bastard and it’s a good thing that she divorced you?” 

He thanks the waiter as his coffee appears. “Neither of us were crazy. We grew apart I think. Or became different. Sometimes I’m still not sure. Yourself?”

Elena shrugs inelegantly. It’s like a full body movement that manages to wobble the table and he quickly wraps his hands around his cup just in case. “Never married. Can’t find a guy willing to stick around for my particular style of company.”

“Honesty?”

“That’s the one!” she says cheerily. “You interested?”

He balks slightly. Oh god, she’s flirting with me. Is she? Holy shit. “Would you be offended if I said no?”

If he’s expecting some sort of deflation, he’s sorely mistaken. Elena makes an exaggerated move of her arm – like one of those ‘gosh darn it’ gestures that are always played up in the movies. “Another one bites the dust. So she ruined you for all others then?”

Arthur shrugs, looking down at the table. “In a way I guess you could say that. We grew up together. Run in the same circles, too.”

“That must be awkward.”

“He moved away.”

“He?” she whistles. “Always the good looking ones,” she mutters under her breath.

“Oh, yes. Sorry, didn’t I say that?” At the shake of her head, he blushes. “I hope you didn’t – sorry, I didn’t think – I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything?”

She waves his apology away. “No worries. That wasn’t my primary objective. I like meeting new people. It keeps life interesting.”

“That’s…fearless of you.”

“What’s there to be afraid of?”

A lot of things, Arthur wants to say. Aside from the usual creepy crawlies, and phobias, and people who are certifiable evil, and politicians who are probably certifiably evil and still voted into office because it’s a matter of choosing the less evil one. “What?”

Elena throws her head back with a laugh. “You just said all of that out loud,” she teases. “I rely on my intuition – I try not to over think otherwise I’d just drive myself mad.”

“So what do you to?”

“As a job? I work with digital media...I take photos a lot of the time. Families, school picture day, local events.”

“I bet you meet a lot of interesting people that way.”

“Yeah – how about you?”

“I’m in the police.”

“Hazard a guess, this means you meet interesting people too.”

“I’m not sure if you’re interesting and my interesting are the same sort of thing.”

* * *

**November 2011**

“Hey Arthur?”

“Ellie,” he says curiously, his hands automatically curling around the box pressed into his chest. “What’s in the box?”

Elena pushes past him and takes a seat at the counter. “Open it, eat it and tell me what you think.”

He does as she asks, opening the lid to reveal an assortment of cakes and cookies and selects a little cupcake to take a bite out of. “Holy shit…Ellie…”

“It’s good yeah?”

He nods his head and chooses a biscuit next. It takes everything he has in him not to moan like he’s having sex – because, this biscuit is as good as sex. “Where did you get this from?” The addiction is forming. He already envisions himself staking out the place and buying everything in the shop. It’s a good vision.

Elena flicks the air out of her eyes. “I made them.”

“You’re kidding me.” At the shake of her head he asks: “Why aren’t you doing this as a career? You’d rake it in!”

“Arthur, let me move in and I’ll bake this stuff for you every day.”

He takes a profiterole and stuffs it in his mouth, a half garbled, “Move in?” falling from his lips. 

“I’m being evicted.”

“Why?”

“Because my flatmates a jackass who decided to get married to an asshole who has convinced her to get rid of me.” She dramatically sighs and slumps over the counter, resting her head on her forearms.

“Surely they can’t do that?”

“Don’t care. Even if they were the ones to leave I’d still need someone to cover part of it. So please? I know there’s a spare room here and I’ll pay my share, you know I will.”

He does.

He makes a big production of considering the over, gobbling up a few more of Elena’s culinary masterpieces and trying to look serious.

Eventually, he sighs, putting the box down and crossing his arms, noting how Elena already begins to sit straight. “No parties,” he says sternly.

She shakes her head with a palm up. “None.”

“No pets.”

“I won’t even get a pet rock.”

“And you’ll cook and bake deliciousness.”

“I will blow the minds of your individual tastebuds.” She sticks out her hand for him to shake which he does by cramming another cupcake into his mouth before taking her hand.

She squeals in thanks.

* * *

**September 2013**

“Lance what’s up?” The clock reads four in the morning and he groans.

Lance sounds apologetic at least. “I got another body.” Arthur raises himself against the headboard and switches on his bedside lamp. “Note too.”

“Okay, I’ll get David on my way in.” He hangs up rolling over the side of the bed and crashing onto the floor. “Fuck.” He quickly goes to the bathroom before changing, can’t go to a crime scene in his pyjamas no matter the time of night.

He’s patting himself down for his keys when spots the light from under Elena’s door and knocks. “Come in!”

“What are you doing up?” he asks, noting that her hair is wild and her glasses are slightly skewed on the bridge of her nose.

“Finishing up some editing for a client.” She looks up from her computer and frowns. “Aww man.”

“Yeah, don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Alrighty, stay safe,” he says.

“You too.” She rolls her eyes indulgently at him knowing that the words are his way of telling people that they matter to him.

* * *

**September 2011**

He finds himself with his hands cuffed to a chair in an empty room and Cedric sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, back against the wall.

“Cedric, put the gun down.” The gun, pointed in Arthur’s direction trembles again. Arthur blinks back the fuzziness, wonders whether his head is bleeding. The floor that Cedric sits on is sodden dirt, remnants of wooden planks rotted through. Aside from the dirt though, Arthur smells something clean in the air. He hazards a guess that he’s in a shack somewhere in the forest.

“Arthur, I’m sorry. You seemed nice but…” he trails off.

Cedric doesn’t sound all that sorry. Arthur rolls his neck, trying to work out the kink, and tries to shrug casual. “That’s okay, but you don’t want to hurt yourself, do you?”

“No…”

“Okay, so just out the gun down, and we can sort this out.”

“I don’t think so.” He looks up, and Arthur notices that his manner is different. Cedric’s voice comes out lower vowels elongated to draw out words. “Pendragon.” Cedric gets up, his rise smooth and balanced – fluid in a way that Arthur had never seen before.

“You played me.”

Cedric chuckled. “I disagree. I was testing you. And you are rather interesting.” Cedric takes the gun moves towards Arthur, hunches down a little bit to look him in the eye. “You though…you are something special.”

“How’s that?”

Cedric grins at him brightly. ”You’re the link to Merlin.” Before he can reply, his captor strikes him across the temple and…

* * *

**October 2013**

Breathe…

One punch to his stomach.

Breathe…

A slap to the side of his head.

Breathe…

A stab to the side of his thigh.

Breathe…

* * *

**October 2013**

Arthur?

He knows it’s cold. He can feel it with every breath that passes his lips and travels into his lungs. Except…except his lungs, they burn.  And he’s tired. He wants to sleep. He’s been kept wherever he’s been kept for over a week now. Hell maybe it’s been years…

_Arthur? Can you hear me?_

He now burns on the outside. There’s something on the outside. Someone on the outside. And fire against his skin. Fire over his hand. Fire moving to his neck, his face. Fire trying to open his eyes. He jerks away. It’s too hot. And he wants to sleep. “Go a’wy.” 

_Arthur? Mate, it’s Lance and David…_

Lance…Arthur shakes his head because that’s not possible. “N’t…Mer’n.” Merlin they want Merlin. The line of fire is now soothing heat against his skin and he pushes against it – wants to bury himself in it. Warm is good, it’s nice. Sleepy.

“Arthur, c’mon mate. It’s David – I need to you wake up.” There’s shaking now. 

 _David…David! Wake the fuck up!_ Arthur continues to feel the shaking now. He turns his face trying to find the sound. “Val’t. Ce’ric.”

“I got them. Arthur, look at me.” Again there are fingers pushed against his eyelids.

He struggles to. He wants to sleep.

“Okay, it’s okay, paramedics are here.”

* * *

**October 2013**

“Lance?”

“Hey mate.”

“What…Cedric!” He starts, already hauling himself half out of the bed. He needs to get out. He moves his wrists, grateful at the fact that he can’t feel cold metal around them. Okay, he’s not restrained, he can get out. He can fight. Immediately, Lance’s hands move to his shoulders, not pressing him down, but staying his movement.

“It’s okay, Arthur! Arthur, we got him.”

He stops struggling and looks at Lance. Lance who looks at him kindly. Lance who still has his hands on his shoulders. Lance who has a cut to his lip and bruising on his face. “What happened to you?”

Lance’s eyes flash dangerously. “Cedric’s scrawny but his fist are made of fucking cement.”

“You’re pissed. You swore.”

“Of course I’m pissed. You’ve been gone for a week!” He breathes out through his nose. “David’s back at the station processing evidence. He’ll be here tomorrow.” A week. Oh Christ. “Arthur?”

“Merlin this was all a way to get closer to Merlin…” Lance sighs, rubbing his hand against his mouth. “I know - he’s been planning this for a long time. Moved up the timeline according to his ‘novel’ once you two broke up. He was delusional Arthur – he thought Merlin could harness magic or something, but the only way he could get to Merlin was through you. He met Merlin earlier apparently, way before we got onto the case. Says that he spooked him, so instead of engaging him directly…”

“Merlin never mentioned directly meeting him…” He shakes his head trying to get rid of the black spots that cloud his vision. “He tried to go through me instead.” He swallows and pushes his head back against the pillow, tears suddenly flowing as he realises that this particular nightmare is finally over. “Merlin won’t be made aware of it will he?” _I did the right thing. I did the right thing. I did the right thing, he_ chants to himself.

“Not unless you told him yourself – there was it was only implied that he was trying to get through to Merlin…you were the one that we thought was in the most danger.”

Lance hisses as he swipes his tongue over the cut of his bottom lip. “Arthur!”

 _Oh hell_. “That sounds like my father.”

Lance sheepishly smiles at him. “I called Gwen, who called Morgana who probably called…”

“Arthur, thank god,” his father says striding to the side of his bed. Uther’s hands sneak up and hold his face between his hands, eyes studiously studying Arthur’s face. “I have never been so terrified before,” Uther says honestly, his fingers moving to brush away Arthur’s fringe and hissing at the now revealed bruising.

“I’m okay, honestly.” Arthur tries to smile, his hand coming to clutch at Uther’s forearm. “He ignores Lance’s amused smile and sees a woman hanging around near the door. “Hello.”

“Glad to hear you’re okay, pet.” She looks strikingly similar to his mother, her blonde hair cut just above her shoulders though.

“Thanks…”

“Ava,” his father whispers.

“Ava. That means a lot. I hope you weren’t disturbed.”

“Nonsense. You take precedence over anything we were doing.” Most likely feeling comfortable with their exchange, Ava sits herself in one of the vacant chairs near his bedside.

“Sorry we had to meet like this.”

“Hush now,” she says. “You are a very handsome young man, even with all the bruising on your face.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

**April 2014**

It’s mandatory – there isn’t a choice.

He looks around the room wondering if there’s a colour that therapists are contracted to paint on their walls.

The therapist continues to speak and Arthur watches him, cataloguing the fancy watch and wire rimmed glasses. The therapists ask him a question. When Arthur doesn’t answer, he makes an observation.

Arthur reminds himself that punching his therapist is heavily frowned upon. Instead, he sits up a little straighter and exclaims, “That’s bullshit!”

“I just repeated your words,” his therapist says calmly flicking back through his book as if he needs to provide him proof.

As of tomorrow he’s finding himself a new therapist.

* * *

**June 2014**

It’s quite sunny outside. He’s sitting near the window in the living room watching Elena in the kitchen. There’s been nothing to do today. He woke up late, read the paper, watched some television. And now he’s sitting near the window. There are a few people out on the street. A car passes by every now and again.

He can hear Elena humming to herself quietly as she adds another spoon of something into a bowl.

“You could go outside you know?” she says. There’s the smell of vanilla in the air and he lolls his head in the direction of the kitchen trying to gain a stronger sniff of it. Elena’s black shirt has smudges of flour on it but she never wears an apron; argues that cooking is meant to be a messy experience. He would join her but he’s not much in the mood.

He’s sitting with his feet on the edge of the seat, knees up, arms around them. “Suppose so.”

“Your leave is almost over.” Elena continues to stir whatever she’s creating around with a wooden spoon.

“Yeah,” he says quietly closing his eyes for just a second.

The stirring stops. He opens his eyes to find her gaze on him. Elena looks at him from within the kitchen, over the counter. She looks sad. “You aren’t going back, are you?”

Arthur shakes his head.

No. He won’t be going back.

* * *

**January 2015**

There’s not much to do at home, he’s come to realise. At first he thought it wouldn’t be so bad. Like come on! As a kid he didn’t have a job and he coped perfectly well with staying at home. The same for being a teenager. Being home was the best. He got to eat and sleep whenever he wanted. That’s always great. Right?

He’s currently lying on the floor with his arms spread out wide trying to count the cracks in ceiling. There’s a grand total of none. It’s the middle of the week and he’s in tracksuit bottoms and a grotty t-shirt lying on the floor _. Jesus Christ_. He rolls onto his front, briefly touching his forehead to the floor in defeat before pushing himself up.

His phone rings.

“Arthur, you need to buy a suit!”

He frowns at Elyan’s words. “Who died?”

“Seriously? I say the word suit and the first thing your mind goes to is death?”

“I was in the police - the fuck do you expect?” He realises that he sounds tetchy but it can’t be helped. “What do you want, Elyan?” He tries to restrain the annoyance in his voice.

Elyan waits a beat before the words burst out like he can’t believe the news himself. “I’m getting married. I need a groomsman. Do you know anyone who’s interested?”

Oh! This is fantastic news! Arthur’s bad mood immediately lifts and he can’t help but grin. “Not a clue. Might want to try Lance.”

“Hilarious, you are,” comes Elyan’s deadpan reply.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you,” states Elyan. 

“Okay,” Arthur laughs. “Who’s your best man?”

“Gwen,” Elyan replies automatically.

Their relationship is lovely, Arthur muses to himself. “Good choice. She’ll make sure you have the most responsible of bachelor parties,” he tells Elyan seriously.

He hears a small scuffle over the phone and frowns. “Are you making fun of me, Arthur Pendragon?” comes Gwen’s tinny voice.

Immediately contrite, he responds. “Never!”

* * *

**May 2015**

He feels out of his depth.

Part of him would rather be out in his car or on the streets interviewing suspects to a latest crime – not that he wishes a crime on anyone. He’d just rather be there than…here.

Arthur looks at his timetable and the campus map before checking the number on the side of the building. It says twenty-three. He’s looking for eighty-two.

He’s starting anew.

Teaching.

That’s another way to help the community, just as valuable as police work.

He walks along the pathway making sure to keep out of the way. There’s a little bit on unease running through his body because holy crap he’s so old compared to all these kids running around him. Fresh out of school, filled with youthful enthusiasm and steadfast determination that their lives will be better than their folks.

Uther has been surprised when he found out. He wasn’t unhappy – didn’t even make an attempt at offering him a position in the family company – just said, _“I hope you enjoy this. I’m glad you’re not putting yourself in danger.”_

Morgana had raised a brow. _“You want to teach kids? You were a little shit, karma’s going to come around and bite you in the arse.”_ At the small harrumph from Uther she added, “ _You might be good at it.”_

* * *

**March 2016**

Lance stands as he walks up the aisle and takes the seat next to him. Lance sits again and leans back against the long wooden benches. There’s a quick glance to his face and a brush to his collar to remove imaginary lint. “You look more nervous than Elyan does.”

Arthur tries not to look around and see the remnants of his own ceremony haunt the old dance hall. Eyes front, soldier. “Do I?”

 _I do_.

“Merlin’s not coming if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh,” he says trying to sound uninterested. He watches as Percival and Gwaine enter the hall, the twins laughing and poking Gwaine repeatedly as he swats back at them with a smile.

“Can’t make it, something’s come up.”

Arthur’s breath catches in his throat. “Is he all right?”

“Oh yeah, he’s fine. Nothing to be concerned about.” Lance smiles at him and pats his knee. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find Gwen. Elyan looks like he’s about to faint. Can you take him outside?” Arthur’s eyes turn to where Elyan is pacing up and down, checking his watch between glances at the door.

“Right.” Arthur waves Lance off and makes his way to the groom-to-be, nodding at Percival as he passes by to talk to Leon. A gaggle of aunts are trying to comfort Elyan while their respective spouses sit off to side and chat about the expensiveness of weddings. Arthur claps his hand on Elyan’s shoulder. “Sorry, just going to steal the groom away.”

Arthur smiles apologetically to the aunts and pushes Elyan outside. Elyan almost trips on the lip of the door before turning around and grabbing one of Arthur’s lapels in a strong hold. “What’s wrong?”

He brushes Elyan’s hand off of him and grins. “Nothing’s wrong. Jesus mate! You just look like you’re about to have a nervous breakdown.”

“I am. I’m doing the thing,” Elyan says stupidly.

“The thing?” Arthur’s never seen Elyan like this before. He always thought that the guy was unflappable. Clearly not.

Elyan nods his head, a hand flailing as he struggles to find the right words. “The thing…with the aisle…and the rings…and-“

“You mean marriage?”

“Yes!”

“You are going to be fine. Mithian is fantastic; you’re going to be so happy with her.” _Great plan, Lance, send in the one with the divorce under his belt to expound on the wonders of holy matrimony._ “Gwen will be here soon to smack some sense into you.”

Arthur smiles as another person walks past them, blissfully unaware that the groom is freaking out. Elyan rubs at his eyes and huffs. “She has to be nice to me. It’s my wedding.”

“Damn right it’s your wedding, and I expect it to be a-sexy wedding,” Arthur says with a wiggle of his brows.

Elyan shakes his head ruefully and Arthur internally pumps his fist seeing some of the tension leave his friend’s shoulders. “Oh, oh no Arthur…how long have you been waiting to use that one?”

“Ever since you told me that you were a-sexy,” he tries again with a grin.

Elyan lets out a bark of laughter, stepping back as Juliet runs past, only stopping briefly to give them each a kiss on the cheek. “Seriously, stop it. That’s horrendous. Thank god you aren’t doing a speech,” he says as she disappears to play lookout for Mithian’s appearance.   

“I told Lance to put it in already – it’s probably around the bit of how you two met.”

Elyan punches his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Today is a day of love my friend. No hate.”

* * *

**April 2016**

He is thinking of the three assignments about pedagogy that he has to write when he hears: “Hey you!” His steps falter as the man comes up to him. Slightly taller than him, very broad shouldered too – he’s tanned, American, from where, Arthur can’t quite tell.

“Me?” he says glancing around quickly.

“Yes, you. Can you tell me how to get to the park?”

Arthur blinks. “You mean that thing there.” He points over the person’s shoulder to the park that’s across the street. “That you just walked out from.”

The man turns around, and then scratches the back of his head. “Uh…yeah, that thing. I didn’t think you saw me.”

“I’m good at noticing things.”

There’s an awkward beat between them before the man speaks. “So that plan was a bit of a fail.” He attempts a smile in Arthur’s direction.

“Better luck next time then. If you’ll excuse me.”

He walks around the man before he hears, “Do you know how to get to the bar?” Okay now he’s getting a bit annoyed.

He turns around. “Mate, you have a phone yeah? There are maps on it.”

The man nods his head consideringly. “Oh, right…man, you lied.”

Arthur balks. He should just turn around and walk away but what the hell, as if he lied! “About what?”

“You said my luck would be better next time.”

The man smiles at him and Arthur scoffs because he’s being picked up with this? “Aren’t you confident?”

“As a kid my mom used to call it stupidity.”

“I’m sure there’s a bit of that too.”

“Marcus. That’s me. I’m new to the country,” Marcus says holding his hand out.

Arthur eyes the hand warily for a second before reluctantly moving to shake it. “Welcome. I’m Arthur.”

“Um…I was serious about the bar.”

Arthur raises his eyebrow. “I was serious about the phone.”

There’s reluctance in Marcus’ voice as he rubs the back of his head again, clearly that’s a nervous tic. “Yeah, I don’t think my phone will work for that.” He reaches into his pocket and Arthur instinctively takes a step back. His legs are ready to bolt even though his brain knows that it’s less than likely that Marcus is carrying a weapon.

Instead of a weapon, Marcus brings out a mobile phone. And it’s an old one with buttons, with a tiny screen that only lights up in green and black. “You’re fucking with me,” he says, gaping as Marcus hands it one over to him. “No one has those phones anymore. Where’s your actual one?”

This is ridiculous. Marcus shrugs. “This is it. Honestly. I’m not allowed to use anything that’ll allow me to work.”

He hands the phone back. “And why’s that?”

“I’m meant to be on vacation…but also my doctor told me to take time off for stress related health issues.”

“Moving to a new country seems counterproductive.”

“A little – I was offered to head up the new branch if I was cleared in six months.”

Eventually Marcus looks down at his watch and blinks looking around them. Arthur’s surprised to not how dark it has gotten. ”So the bar?” Arthur rattles of the directions and stands there for some reason waiting for Marcus to walk away first. Instead Marcus just asks him, “You wanna come with?”

And Arthur says ‘yes’.

* * *

**December 2018**

“Hey, babe, wake up.”

His eyes snap open, back straight, fists clenched in the sheets and gasping for breath.

“Arthur, you with me?”

He turns and sees Marcus, sitting next to him but that doesn’t make sense. He can’t be here, not here – the walls are rough, the room musty and smelling of sweat and dirt and damp.

“We’re in my flat.” A gently press of a hand against his own. Arthur loosens his fist minutely. “Where are you Arthur?”

He blinks. The walls are blue…the walls…they’re blue. He shifts, the bedding, soft and squishy under his body. Not dirt. “It…” he swallows. “Bedroom…the flat…”

“That’s good. You recognise me?”

Arthur turns his head taking in the tanned skin and curly brown hair; the crooked nose and green eyes.

“Marcus.”

Marcus smiles. “Welcome back.” He doesn’t move any closer, doesn’t remove his hand, don’t touch him anywhere else and Arthur is grateful. “You, well, you know what happened yeah?”

Another nightmare.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Marcus says softly, running his thumb over Arthur’s own. “You wanna watch some TV?” Arthur ducks his head checking the time on his alarm clock. He can feel Marcus look over. “Okay, so it’s three in the morning which means infomercials – last thing we need is me buying a mop,” he says lightly. “Movie then?”

Arthur finally feels like he’s collected himself well enough to give his partner more than one word answers. “You have work in a few hours.” He pulls his hand out from Marcus’ and lies back down. Marcus resettles next to him, curling in to face Arthur. “Go to sleep, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Maybe it’s best if I stay in the other room,” Arthur mutters.

Marcus’ hand lands on his chest. “Don’t be an idiot, sweetheart.”

“Just in case it happens again.” Because it might. Sometimes he’s unfortunate enough to have three a night. He thought it was meant to get better but it hasn’t. It’s been a few years now. He should be better.

Marcus shifts closer, dragging his pillow down, scooting closer until his head butts against Arthur’s upper arm. “Then it’ll happen again,” he says with a yawn. “And if it does, at least you won’t be alone.”

* * *

**March 2019**

The storm is big. Winds gust across his window, the rain pelting down on their roof. Today Boston is gloomy and sad, and he hopes that the storm won’t mess with his internet connection. A little screen pops up and he maximises it until he sees Gwen leaning back, fiddling with a tissue in her hand. “Gwen?”

She offers him a wane smile. “Hey sweetheart.”

The smile is wrong. Brittle. “You okay?” He gets a better look at her surroundings and frowns. “Are you at Morgana’s?”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “Arthur, have you-“her voice cracks and she blinks quickly, tilting her head back for a brief moment as if to compose herself. “Have you spoken with Lance?”

He shakes his head because truthfully he hasn’t. “No…Gwen, what’s going on?”

She shakes her head – another fake smile shot in his direction. “Nothing.”

He can see that her eyes are red. “You’re crying. Gwen?”

She takes in a deep breath and Arthur feels like he’s seen this before. Everything about it is familiar. His own breath catches as she declares: “We were having some…problems. We’ve decided to separate.”

“Did he…did you…” he tries impotently. Not them. He can’t, it doesn’t make sense. His mind blanks. Gwen and Lance, they were supposed to last, noble and true, like the legends – goddamn soulmates, he always thought. He pushes aside the reminder that that’s what he used to think about this own marriage because Lance and Gwen were different. The only word he rests on eventually is: “Why?”

“We…we wanted different things. We have for a while now,” she says quietly. Arthur wonder’s if she’s aware that she’s rubbing her abdomen. He watches as the words settle over her, pushing her head and shoulders down as if trying to drown her – and in a way they are.

Gwen turns in her chair, dim lamplight casting over her profile. His heart breaks for her as he sees a tear drop from the end of her nose, as he hears her pained cries that keep her company in an otherwise empty room.

* * *

**August 2020**

It ends painlessly.   

“We don’t really love each other do we?” Arthur stirs another spoon of sugar into his coffee and watches Marcus put on his shoes. “I mean, we love each other…but it’s more like platonic life bros.”

He’s been thinking about this for a while now, and he’s unwilling to stay silent about it any longer. They’re good together but it’s not…it doesn’t make sense. They still have separate places. Arthur still lives with Elena. Marcus still has his little double story house. They’ve not melded together. It’s not fair to either of them.

“Platonic life bros?” Marcus questions as he fixes the cuffs of his shirt. “Makes sense, the sex was ‘meh’,” he says with a cheeky grin.

Arthur splutters through his mouthful of coffee. “You arsehole.”

“Asshole,” he corrects with a wink. “You Brits add extra letters to everything.”

“You’re taking this rather well.”

Marcus looks at him sadly. “Would you like me to yell at you? Babe, you know that I love you – but the fact is, this isn’t hurting us…” he pauses allowing for a contradiction if needed. “And if it isn’t hurting us, then clearly we are okay with it. Are you okay with it?”

Arthur reluctantly nods his head. “I am…but I feel like I’ve wasted your—“

“Hey, what stop, no!” Marcus comes to him quickly taking the coffee cup out of his hands and wrapping his arms around Arthur’s shoulders. “Don’t say that, don’t ever say that.” He presses a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “I’m so glad that I got to spend this time with you. You’re one of the best people I know.”

“Right back at you.” Arthur smiles.

* * *

**March 2023**

Arthur spots him first.

Merlin looks different. It’s not a big difference. He hasn’t gone from a skinny stick to a round stone – nothing like that. He’s a little more muscled in body maybe.

Arthur’s pleased to note that his face is the same just older.

He wants to say hello, except he’s not really sure whether it would be welcomed. Maybe Merlin told Morgana not to tell him that he was back in town. Shit, maybe Merlin’s been back forever. Maybe he never left.

Well, that not true, Merlin did leave. Travelled the globe like he said he wanted to. He lived a life that Arthur’s come to realise wouldn’t have been lived had they stayed together. A small part of acknowledging that hurts, but he’s happy for Merlin.

“Would you like a bag?” The cashier waits expectantly for Arthur to answer.

“Please,” he manages with his eyes still trained on Merlin.

In the distance, Merlin frowns and begins to look around before his eyes settle on a young girl. He walks over, puts his hand on her shoulder and smiles kissing her temple.

He forces his eyes to the clerk, hands over his card but can’t help himself from looking up in Merlin’s. The girl’s staring back at him. He looks quickly down pin screen pressing his thumb against it and hastily scribbling his signature on the receipt pushed towards him.

She’s walking toward him and Arthur blinks and suddenly things get a little hazy. This girl is striding towards him, unimpeded like a freight train. Arthur shifts his glance behind her and his mind works furiously trying to figure out what to do because…

Merlin’s coming, too.

He’s happy for Merlin – he’s okay with Merlin being a memory.

He quickly takes his bags and looks at the exit.

She stops and watches him carefully. Her eyes flick to the exit. Maybe she’s reading his mind or getting a feeling. That must be it. He really wants to bolt, and the universe knows it. “You’re Arthur.”

“I’m sorry…I don’t know who you are,” Arthur says.

The girl hums, and Arthur can’t tell if it’s feigned interest or a genuine interest that colours her face. Arthur would ponder it more, but Merlin strides up to them and stops just a step away from him.

They’re breathing the same air.

“Oh my god, Arthur!” Merlin raises his hands up, almost going for a hug, but he abandons the thought. Merlin wants it to happen, though. Arthur can tell - can see it in how Merlin twists his hands together, over and over and over again like snakes or otters rolling over each other.

“Hi, Merlin.” Arthur stays silent and watches the young woman who literally stands between them.

She rolls her eyes. “Jesus Christ, not even five minutes.” She turns to Arthur and sticks out her hand. He takes it and notes the strong grip as they shake. “I’m Leyla, his daughter.” They break contact.

He blinks stupidly at her; mind twisting over the word daughter, both simultaneously calming and ratcheting up the unsettling feels that curls around his stomach. His mind is going over the few pictures that he’s seen of her as a child and knows that it’s true. The baby fat is gone, but he can see Merlin in her. She’s tall and slim. Has his eyes and smile. Not his hair colour exactly, though. There’s something lighter, softer than Merlin’s pitch black.

He’s never seen Freya, to be honest he hadn’t wanted to, but he can guess what she looked like. Bits of Leyla don’t look right. No, Leyla’s beautiful. He shakes his head internally. Right isn’t the word…it’s just, she’s not all Merlin.

_She’s Merlin plus someone else._

Arthur tightens his grip around the plastic handles of his bags and transfers half of them back to his now- empty hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” Leyla grins. “My sister, Morgana, – she showed me photos of you when you were a child.” He takes a quick look at Merlin who watches them both. “If it’s all right, me asking, how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Fifteen. When did time past so quickly? And what the hell had he been doing for it to go by without him noticing. Merlin has a fifteen year old daughter. He tips his head back and laughs shakily. “God, I feel ancient.”

“You and me both,” Merlin murmurs. He’s looking at him with an indescribable expression on his face. A bit stunned, like he’s been smacked with a fish. He drops his eyes to the bags in Arthur’s hands, and that jolts him out of whatever revelry he was in. “Sorry, we’re not keeping your from anything, are we?”

“Um…no, not really.” Going home. Laundry. Cleaning the flat. Afternoon television. Rinse and repeat like it says on the back of his shampoo bottle.

“Dad, go catch up.” Leyla nudges Merlin’s shoulder and sends Arthur a wink that leaves him curious and wondering how much she knows about him. “I’ll see you at home.” She tugs down her T-shirt and pulls the zipper of her jacket closed.

“Are you sure?” Merlin frowns, checking his phone. Arthur stands silently watching the interaction between father and daughter.

“Yup.” She kisses Merlin’s cheek and then pulls Arthur into a hug that’s so quick that Arthur doesn’t even manage to raise his arms by the time she pulls away and disappears into the crowd.

Without Leyla there, Arthur struggles to find something to say. Technically there’s a lot they could talk about - fifteen years’ worth. They stand silently together for a few moments cataloguing each other. Merlin’s grey at the temples, crows-feet dashing the end of his eyes. “You look good,” Merlin says softly.

Arthur nods, swallowing thickly, his eyes still scanning over Merlin’s face and trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. “Thanks. You do, too.”

Merlin clears his throat and quickly looks around. “If you have the time do you…would –” He huffs. “It’s lunch time,” he says with a tight smile.

There’s a chicken Caesar salad with his name on it in the fridge at home.

“Do you want to get something…with me?”

 _Yes_. Arthur feels his heart jump into his mouth and he tampers down his frustration. He’s surrendering to this all-encompassing love that he has for Merlin. His flimsy barriers are coming down, crumbling speck of grit by crumbling speck of grit. He nods his head. “Okay.”

Merlin offers him a smile and begins a slow walk, weaving through the rush of people that litter the space around them. “You look good,” he offers again.

Arthur casts a quick glance down to his black sweat pants, all too aware of the hole in his right knee, and catches a glimpse of the grass stain at the hem of his t-shirt.

“This place seems alright.”

Merlin ducks in leaving Arthur to follow carefully making sure that his bags don’t hit the other patrons. Once settled Arthur manages to get the conversation started with: “Leyla seems great.”

Merlin offers him a quick grin as he pours Arthur some water and lets out a chuckle of fondness. “She’s pretty special. I’m lucky to have her. I mean don’t get me wrong, her going through puberty isn’t a walk in the park, but it is what it is.”

“And how’s Freya?”

The light in Merlin’s eyes dim. “If it’s okay with you…I’d rather not talk about it.”

Reluctantly Arthur nods his head, his eyes dropping the skin of Merlin’s wrist. “You’ve tanned…a bit.”

“It’s fading actually. Going back to being pasty white.” He flips his wrist and takes a look as if something new has just been revealed to him. “I got sunburnt in Spain. It was, well, I looked pretty disgusting; bright red and peeling skin.”

Arthur huffs out a laugh and Merlin’s eyes crinkle in response. “Ouch.”

“Yeah…mum practically made me wash in sunscreen after I healed up.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“So what have you been doing?” Merlin’s looking at him now, leaning forward in his seat like he’s looking forward to whatever Arthur has to say and it leaves Arthur spinning. There’s this heady sort of feeling to being the centre of someone’s attention and now that he’s Merlin’s…his mind grinds to a halt.

“Nothing really.”

Merlin reels back, a troubled and disbelieving look on his face. “What about the job?”

“I left…ages ago.”

The trouble grows greater. “How come?”

Arthur drops his eyes to the table and begins to pick at his napkin. “I didn’t want to do it anymore.” He doesn’t know how much Merlin knows but he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to deal with the questions.

He looks up again and can see the determined set of Merlin’s face. Merlin want’s to ask, he wants to know what changed but there must be something on his face that causes him to bite his tongue. “So now?”

Arthur smiles. “I work with kids.”

“That’s a change.”

“A good one, though. I needed it.”

They leave two hours later with awkward promises to keep in touch. Arthur grips the handles of his shopping bag and exhales loudly as he walk through the underground carpark. _We never actually exchanged numbers…_

* * *

**April 2023**

He had Easter eggs hiding in his cupboard. Somewhere, unless he ate them all which is actually highly probable. He moves a strawberry jam jar to the left and a packet of spaghetti to the right. Damn it, where are they?

“Arthur? What are you doing?”

“I had Easter eggs in this cupboard…” He turns slowly. “Oh come on Ellie!”

Elena shrugs reaching around him to get her cereal. “I was hungry.”

“You just deprived children of chocolate.” He quickly downs his coffee and pats his jacket pocket for his set of keys “I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m doing a public service.” She grins and kisses his cheek.

“You’ve just made me an enemy of the children. You may never see me again.”

“Oh well.” She shrugs at him. 

“I hate you.”

“Of course you do.”

“I hope you choke on your cereal,” he says reaching the front door.

“Your kids are going to stab you in the heart with scissors.”

* * *

**April 2023**

He doubles over, hands on knees, drawing in deep breaths to fill his lungs as he hears his ringtone blaring from the pocket of his running shorts. Arthur doesn’t even look at the number as he brings the phone to his ear. “Pendragon.” And alright, some habits are difficult to break, case in point, the surname as a greeting.

There’s a heavy exhale on the other end of the line. “Hi.” Arthur’s eyes widen and he stands up straighter. “I hope this is okay, but I got your number from Percy.”

“Merlin?”

“I asked Morgana, but she told me to get fucked,” Merlin lets out a nervous titter of laughter, almost as if he’s worried that she’ll ninja towards him and snap his neck for even dialling the number. Arthur grins because admittedly Morgana’s overt brand of protectiveness is just really lovely. “I tried Gwaine, too, but he didn’t want to.”

At that Arthur blinks. “Oh?”

“If it’s not okay I can just …delete it.”

“Yes. I mean…it’s okay. I should’ve given it to you earlier, but I forgot to.…”

“Great, I was wondering if you wanted to go grab some lunch or something with me?”

“Now?” As he looks out across the oval to keep track of his kids, he spots Toby, a small curly hair child, huffing and clutching his side. Beside Toby, Marley is jogging, her jet black pigtails jumping up and down.

“No time like the present,” Merlin says enthusiastically. 

At the head of the pack is Thomas to just runs like the wind. Seriously, the kid keeps going and going and going, lapping friend after friend. Arthur can just make out the ruddy tinge of his cheeks and wonder’s how much sugar he consumed over lunch time. “I can’t. I’m working right now.”

“Oh…right.”

He spies Toby finally settling into a walk; see’s Allison and Jessie dragging Tyler by the hands encouraging her to powerwalk. Some kids are valiantly trying to continue the run while others walk and catch their breath. He looks and spots Thomas who’s leaning against the fence with his hands over his mouth. “I’m going to have to call you back. Sorry Merlin.”

“Yeah no prob-“ He winces as the screen goes dark halfway through Merlin’s sentence, but at that moment, Thomas throwing up on the grass is definitely more important.

* * *

**May 2023**

“You’re a bastard and I hate you.” Arthur hates Leon. He hates him with the fire of a hundred suns. Leon hasn’t done anything bad of course because he’s Leon. Leon is good. Leon is nice. Except for when Leon is thoroughly annoying him, like he has been for the past thirty minutes.

“Arthur?”

It takes him a second to place the voice. Definitely not Leon’s. “Merlin! Shit, sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

Merlin laughs. “Well I’m glad I’m not them.”

“So…”

“I…well I called you…last week? And…well you were working, I’m sorry I interrupted you by the way.” He can’t hear anything else other than the sound of Merlin breathing. “Right, this sounds-“

“Damn…” he cuts in. “I said I was gonna call you back.”

“Yeah…”

“It slipped my mind, one of the kids vomited on the oval. His mother apparently packed him a can of coke for recess and we were training for an athletics day. It was very messy,” Arthur explains.

“I can imagine. Well, I just wanted to, check in I guess. Mum sort of…she wants to invite your family over for pizza night.”

“Pizza night – Sunday night pizza night?”

“If you aren’t busy.”

He chews his lip. “I’ll ring around to the others and ask.”

“You can still come if the others aren’t free you know.”

“I’ll call you back.”

A few hours later he’s walking down a gravel pathway to a large house. A touch on his arm halts his step.

“Father?”

He feels his father’s hand curl around his elbow gently. There’s a tug of tinged with desperation. “I didn’t know he was back – she didn’t tell me.” He meets his father’s worried eyes and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “If it gets too much for you, we can leave,” Uther offers.

Arthur squeezes his shoulder. “It’s okay.”  Together they slowly meander to the front door.

“I can maim him if you like?” His father holds his cane out in front of him and prods in the air. “This stick could do some damage.” The cane is Uther’s favourite toy now. Despite the doctor’s reassurance that its use is only a short term necessity until the hip sorts itself out, Uther probably won’t get rid of it.

“Father, stop it,” Arthur admonishes with a smile as he presses the doorbell.

A few moments later Hunith opens the door and claps her hands. “Arthur! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Come here into the light and let me look at you properly.” He stands still as she scrutinises him. “Still handsome,” she sighs.

“Hunith,” Uther nods in her direction. “No anchovies in the sauce please.”

“I remember. I’m older, not senile.” She waves them into the living room. His father takes a seat in front of the fireplace. “Make yourselves at home. Is Morgana coming? How’s Mordred?”

“Morgana and Leon might stop by. Mordred’s doing well – he’s busy finding himself or protesting against something. I forget.” Arthur sighs at the tone that Uther manages whenever he has to talk about youngest Pendragon child. Despite the promise of a genius, Mordred never had the drive to do something worthwhile – or at least anything under Uther’s definition of worthwhile…

Mordred hardly ever comes home anymore.

Hunith’s face morphs into one of inquiry but when she catches Arthur’s eye and the subtle shake of his head she stands up straighter and makes a show of fetching Uther a drink.

“Arthur, Uther!” Merlin skids across the wooden floorboard in his socks and smiles. “How are you Uther?”

Uther barely glances at him, sitting down. “Fine.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes.”

Merlin’s smile falters and Arthur shrugs, shooting a glance in his father’s direction. “Is Leyla joining us as well?”

“Yeah, she’s upstairs writing a paper for class. I’ll let her know that you’re here.”

When Merlin disappears Arthur rounds on his father. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean? I’m just sitting here.”

“You’re being rude…well cold.” Arthur takes a knee. “Don’t be angry at him. Try to be a little warmer; at least don’t let on that something’s wrong – not to his daughter.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do. I just want you to enjoy tonight – pizza night, they were fun times, weren’t they?” He squeezes Uther’s arm and stands as the sound of footsteps draws closer. “Hello Leyla.” He waves a little awkwardly. “This is my father, Uther. Father, say hello to Merlin’s daughter, Leyla.”

Uther looks up before struggling to his feet. “Leyla – it’s lovely to meet you,” he says warmly.

Arthur breathes out a sigh of relief although he notes that as Leyla turns to walk into the kitchen, Uther sends a narrowed glare in Merlin’s direction.

* * *

**June 2023**

“Hey.” He peers over the top of the box and watches curiously. “Twins,” he greets.

“Uncle Arthur!” they chime together. Olivia flounces over and tries to sneak a glance over the cardboard lip. “What do you have in there? Oh did you finally buy me a puppy?” She prods his arm and huffs. “You’re like ten years to slow old man.”

“I’m only forty-three!”

“Almost forty-four…give it two months,” Jacob teases.

“What are you doing here?” He glances across to Jacob. “Same question to you young man – what are you doing here?” On closer inspection, they are both giving him shifty-eyes. “Why do you both look guilty?”

“Us, guilty?” they say in unison. Olivia even puts a hand on her heart as if he’s mortally offended her.

Footsteps descend down the stairs only to reveal Merlin. “Arthur!” He waves awkwardly.

“Merlin.” Arthur continues into the kitchen depositing the box onto the granite countertop.

Merlin follows after him and tries and fails not to peak. “What are you doing here?”

“They called me. How’s Gwaine?”

The mention of Gwaine gets him a wounded look in return. “Upstairs asleep — he’s got the flu,” Merlin mumbles. Arthur nods. “Percy asked me to check up on him.”

“Disease party!” the twins exclaim.

Merlin looks at them all before asking: “What’s a disease party – it doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“It’s what Dad and Uncle Arthur do when one of them is too sick to get out of bed. Also only happens if Dad’s away on business. The strong one brings a bunch of stuff and lives with the weak one. We used to do it when we were kids, first started when we all had the chickpox?”

Olivia starts pulling out items from the box. Multiple boxes of tissues, throat lozenges, a jar of honey, a small sack of lemons, vegetables, tinned soup, a fistful of USBs, pyjamas, socks, blankets, laundry liquid…

“Sounds about right. And Gwaine’s not that sick.” Arthur shrugs. “He just always thinks he’s dying.” 

“Oh my god…what happened to Freddie?” Olivia holds up a bright green wastepaper basket that has a face drawn onto it in black marker. It’s lined with multiple plastic bags.

Jacob looks at the basket dubiously. “Put it away Liv, I don’t like how it looks at me.”

“Children the both of you.” He shakes his head with a smile. “Freddie retired, just as Frenchy and Flambe had too.”

“Aww I forgot about Flambe.” Jacob pouts and sticks his tongue out at the new bucket.

“Did you name your puke-bucket?”

Arthur nods enjoying the thoroughly weirded out face that Merlin currently sports. “Meet Frieda.” 

Merlin lamely waves hello as Arthur takes Frieda and a few other things up to Gwaine.

There’s the sound of a dying man coming from the bedroom. “Afternoon Sir Cough-a-lot.” He deposits the bundle of goods on the floor and watches Gwaine carefully.

Gwaine, normally gorgeously clear skinned, tanned and glossy haired looks like something a cat hacked up. “Fuck you to your Royal Phlegm-ness,” he huffs and wipes his nose with the back of his arm.

“I don’t have phlegm and use a fucking tissue.” He thrusts the box out at Gwaine and shakes it a little to encourage him to take a tissue. It’s one of those nice types, with the lotion, so that it doesn’t feel like your wiping your nose with sandpaper. “So Merlin’s downstairs.”

Gwaine blows his nose, the sound similar to that of a foghorn. “Percy’s fault. Didn’t fucking want him here.”

“Gwaine.” He toes off his shoes and sits up against the headboard next to Gwaine who’s elevated by a mound of pillows.

Gwaine takes another tissue. “Don’t you feel angry? Aren’t you pissed?”

Arthur shrugs. “I don’t think I completely…trust him.” He doesn’t quite know how to explain it. He does trust Merlin…he just doesn’t trust Merlin. It’s probably along the line of with himself and with his heart even though they won’t be getting together. “But, I get why I’m having issues with him around. What I don’t understand is why you’re pissed?”

Gwaine tilts his head back against the pillow before wincing as the crap from his nose goes down his throat. “He just left.”

 _No shit,_ Arthur doesn’t say. “We knew he was going – you had a get together to see him off.”

“But after – we didn’t hear from him did we? The only person he talked to was Gwen and even then that wasn’t very often. Gwen told me that he got married. He should’ve done that. I found out that they had a bub from fucking Facebook!”

Arthur frowns, fights the urge to go downstairs and yell at Merlin. He knew that it was hard on Gwaine, but he never realised just how hard he took it, wrapped up in his own grief.  Gwaine can’t see him that much because the pillows are in the way so the he makes sure that his sympathetic look morphs into one of disbelief as he moves into Gwaine’s line of sight. “Seriously, abandonment issues?”

“Oh fuck off,” Gwaine wheezes out, managing to convey his annoyance with a pitiful little push of Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m dying here.”

“When’s Percy coming back again? Take the lozenge.” He drops the honey-lemon flavoured one into Gwaine’s hand.

“Couple of days.” Gwaine says between sucks. “Never thought that running a couple of gyms would be so much work.”

Arthur huffs. “You own over twenty-five.”

“See, a lot of work.” Gwaine suddenly groans and hunches in over himself. “Did you bring Freddy?”

“Meet Frieda.” He puts the basket in Gwaine’s lap and raises a hand to his friend’s shoulder.

Gwaine stares at Frieda’s face and looks mournfully at Arthur. “I miss Freddy already,” he manages to get out before his body jerks and he’s making friends with Frieda.

* * *

**September 2023**

“Arthur! There’s someone here to see you!” Elena sing-songs. He comes out from his room still clad in the pyjamas because it’s a Saturday and he has nowhere better to be. He stifles a yawn, and pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

“Merlin!” Merlin stares wide-eyed looking between him and Elena. “Let me guess, Percy gave you my address too.”

This is almost funny…almost. “It was Gwen.”

He rolls his eyes because the meddling amongst the people in his life is astounding. “I should stop being surprised.”

Merlin gives him a wane smile. “That would probably be for the best.”

Arthur crosses him arms, and sends a warning look to Elena. He hopes she doesn’t say anything. Please, dear god…don’t say anything Ellie. “So how can I help you?” Merlin’s brow furrows, casting a long look at Elena who’s still hanging on the door.  “I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner?”

Arthur tries to hide his surprise. “With you?”

“I can ask other people to come, too, if you’d prefer it.” He casts another look at Elena.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Really?” Merlin asks cautiously.

“Yes.” Elena answers for him. “He’d be happy to have dinner with you.”

Arthur can only nod his head in response. Merlin sighs, the tense line of his shoulders disappearing with Arthur’s decision. “Okay. So I’ll be back here in a few hours. Say seven?”

“He’ll be ready.” Elena pushes Arthur back and shuts the door in Merlin’s face. “Oh my god – he’s got it so bad for you!” Elena crows happily as she falls onto the couch, leaving Arthur still standing there standing by the door. “Did you see the way he looked at me? It was a mix between ‘confused puppy’ and ‘I wish to smite you into dust’!”

“What?” Arthur asks, finally grasping Elena’s meaning. “You think Merlin’s trying to date me!”

“Yes!”

“That’s insane.” No. They’re going to catch up as…friends…no, acquaintances. “Of course you’ve come to that conclusion because you are an insane person.”

“I’m calling your sister.”

Oh come on! He makes frantic motions hoping one of them will inspire pity. “No!”

He hears Juliet laughing in the background. Speakerphone. Dammit. “Morgs? It’s Ellie. Guess who just came to Arthur’s door!”

“I dunno, who?” Morgana says, sounding half distracted.

“Merlin!”

“Merlin!” Juliet gasps. “Uncle, you okay?” she asks him.

“I’m fine Jules.”

Ellie nods her head even though they can’t see her. “Want to know the best bit? He asked Arthur to dinner!”

“Oh god.” Morgana says.

“Aww!” Jules crows. “That’s sweet.” He hears a huff and then: “Mum, you don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”

At those words he can imagine her expression and it’s not a happy one. “Arthur, are you going to go?”

“I dunno,” he says. “It’s Merlin,” he says.

“And you love him.” At least Morgana doesn’t sound upset.

“I don’t…exactly…argh!” he lets out a frustrated growl because this isn’t fair. “Why aren’t you making me sound pathetic? I’m a grown man!”

“I could never make you feel worse than you make yourself feel. It’s like a talent.”

He drops into a chair. “Cheers sis. So should I go?” 

“You would’ve told him no straight up if you didn’t want to.”

“Yes, that’s a yes!” Juliet translates.

* * *

**September 2023**

They’ve been hanging out more often. Lunches and dinner and he missed this – their friendship.

He’s saying something about wanting to try out a new Thai restaurant when his words are cut off - Merlin’s lips pressed again his, quick and sure. When Merlin pulls back, his cheeks are tinged pink. “You kissed me,” he states.

Merlin nods shyly. “I did.”

Arthur has vague recollections of a conversation that started out with that same sentence many, many years ago. “Why?”

At this Merlin’s expression shutters – he’s withdrawing. “Because…” Merlin trails off. “I thought we…”

“We?”

Merlin steps back uncertain. “I thought we felt right.”

“Ellie was right…you’ve been trying to date me.”

“Well…yeah.” Merlin plays with the cuffs of his jacket. “What did you think I was trying to do?” Honestly, Arthur doesn’t actually, know…but he was convinced that it wasn’t this.

 _Shit, shit, shit_. He doesn’t want this except he does. He wants it so badly and it makes him angry – that he wants this. His heart is telling him that he wants this but he can’t—his brain is telling him to stop. But Merlin kissed him and it felt like his first time all over again. This rush of power and love, mixed in with a healthy dose of abject terror.  “But what about Freya?”

There’s something that doesn’t sit well with him about it. Merlin never brings her up. “I can’t talk about her.”

He pulls away, crossing his arms. “Why not?”

“It hurts. Please…it’s nothing bad…but it’s difficult. Can you trust me on this?”

Arthur weighs his options and nods stiffly. “Fine. Fine…one condition. If we do this, we do it under the radar for a few months…if we’re certain about each other, then we can start telling our friends. I’m not putting them through this again.” He wants to contain the possible implosion.

“Okay,” Merlin says. “I can do that. Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

* * *

**November 2023**

There’s something on his chest, holding him down and…

_Fuck, fuck, fuck…_

His eyes snap open, adjusting to the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains, taking in the cream coloured walls and the soft bed under his body. Arthur notes the dark head of hair lying on his chest – the reason for his claustrophobia and carefully untangles himself scampering into the ensuite.

He dials his sister. “Morgana…” he struggles. “Talk…please talk.”

And bless her, she launches into tale after tale, of Juliet’s travels, about their father’s latest complaint about the world. She tells him that Mordred chained himself to a tree again. And Arthur listens, phone pressed to his ear, sitting on the lid of the toilet with his head leaning against the wall.

Eventually she pauses between stories and asks, “Arthur, are you okay?”

Arthur presses the heal of his palm to his eyes. “Merlin must’ve moved sometime in the night…woke up with his head on my chest. Panicked.”

“Oh love,” she soothes.

Arthur laughs wetly. “Yeah…”

“So you two are properly a thing now.”

“I uh…”

“Did you have sex?” At his answering silence she lets out a gleeful, “You did, didn’t you?!”

He thumps his head against the wall. “Morgana.”

“I’m calling Gwen right after,” she tells him. 

“You can’t!”

“Right, because you and Merlin are such a big secret.” He can practically hear the eyeroll. “Everyone knows.”

“How?”

“I told everyone to keep an eye on you two,” she explains. Arthur huffs in annoyance.

“I really do loathe you sometimes.”

“I’d be worried if you didn’t. Where’s Merlin?”

He gets up and moves to the door, opening it just a little, wide enough to see still under the covers, head turned to the side, snoring softly. “Still asleep.”

“Will there be a walk of shame? Oh, promise me that you’ll come to my place. I want to watch you walk down my street.”

He shuts the door again and leans against the bathroom counter keeping his voice low. “You know what - next time I’m calling Gwen.”

“So there’s going to be a next time.”

The question catches him off guard even though he agreed to make a go of it. “I guess so.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”  

“I’m not entirely certain I guess. Look what’s happened.” He glances at the mirror seeing his messy hair and red eyes.

“Then tell him, and if he can’t handle it, better you find out now than down the road when you’re half asleep with your hands around his throat.”

“Morgana!” _Fucking hell_. That happened once, only once with Marcus. Marcus had thankfully punched him in the face, snapping him awake, forcing him to explain what the hell had just happened. Arthur had – weeping through his explanations.

“You know I’m right about this,” she says gently.

“Yeah,” he agrees before hanging up.

He quietly creeps out of the bathroom and begins to pick up bits of clothing. As he’s fastening his jeans, Merlin rolls over. Arthur doesn’t breathe for a couple of minutes. Merlin moves his arm across the empty space, but settles again.

He had a T-shirt, but it’s completely vanished. In the midst of debating on whether to sacrifice the shirt, damning to hell the motto “no man gets left behind” – which is fine since there’s no rule about clothing. He looks up to see Merlin staring at him with a sleepy smile plastered onto his face.

“So you’re freaking out.”

Arthur scoffs. “I’m not freaking out.”

“So you weren’t going to leave without saying anything?” There’s a crease on Merlin’s cheek probably from the pillow.

“Of course not.”

“And you didn’t call your big sister from inside the bathroom.”

“You heard all that?”

“I heard enough.”

Arthur feels like he should apologise, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“I’d like it if you’d stay, but I understand why you want to leave.”

“Okay, right…good. I should probably go.” He doesn’t kiss Merlin goodbye, it doesn’t feel right. Instead he gives him a limp wave before walking out the door.

He misses the fall of Merlin’s face.

* * *

**January 2024**

“Merlin?” They haven’t really talked since that morning after so he’s surprised to see Merlin’s name light up his screen.

“My dad likes you…like really likes you.”

He sighs. “Leyla-“

“No, listen, he told me about you when I was a kid. We don’t keep secrets.  He found out later about Cedric and Gran told us about your…PTSD,” she rushes the acronym out quickly, afraid that if she takes too long, it’ll never come out.

“She told him?!” His voice is raised, more out of surprise than anger, although there is a little undercurrent of betrayal weaved through them.

“Not everything, but…yeah…” Leyla stutters quietly. “Please don’t be angry…I didn’t mean to…”

Arthur takes a moment, and once he’s calm, soothes Leyla who’s quiet on the other end of the line bar her breathing. “Hey, hey, Leyla…” he starts. “Hey, c’mon kiddo, I didn’t mean to yell. It wasn’t directed at you okay,” he finishes with a sigh.

“I really am sorry,” she apologises quickly. “I…I just wanted…”

“You wanted him to be happy. I know. Leyla I’ve got to go now – you need to delete this call from his list.”

“I-yeah. Right, I should do that before he gets back. Okay. I’m…really sorry. Bye Mr Pendragon.”

* * *

**February 2024**

“Alright, I’m coming!” he shouts, tucking the tail or his shirt into his jeans. He opens the door finding himself face to face with Merlin.

“My daughter called you.”

“Merlin?” he asks dumbly.

Merlin ignores that and continues to apologise. “I’m so sorry about that. She had no right.” He huffs. “I grounded her,” he offers, like it will make it okay. “I was wondering if you had time for a walk?”

“Um...” He probably shouldn’t.

“It’s okay, you can say no. I just…I feel like I owe you an explanation of sorts.”

“Merlin,” he sighs.

Merlin clutches the doorframe and puts his palm flat on the door to stop him from swinging it closed. “Arthur, please.” He sounds so desperate.

“Fine, just, give me a second.” He slips his feet into a pair of shoes and grabs a jacket.

“Ellie?” He knocks on her door seeing the lump under the bedcovers. “I’m going out,” he whispers. A wave of the hand is all he sees from her.

He sees Merlin standing just inside the door looking at the wall of photos. He seems him reach out, and touch one of them.

Black and white moments mixed with Elena’s experimental flourishes – the bright pink of Gwen’s scarf highlighted, Arthur’s eyes coloured a vibrant blue, the background behind Leon, Percy and Gwaine an emerald green. “

There are no photos of Merlin.

“We should go,” Arthur says gently, nudging him out the door, glancing back and seeing a finger smudge on a picture of himself.

They walk over to the park in silence until they’re midway across the bridge that spans across the length of the lake. He doesn’t say anything. Arthur wraps his hand around the railing and looks down at the river flowing under his feet. “It was difficult,” Merlin begins.

He frowns. “How’d you mean?”

“When Leyla was born Freya was…” He shrugs. “Angrier. Wilder. She used to mutter that there was something dark inside her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t really understand what she meant. I thought it was, I dunno, post-partum depression? We all thought it would get better. For the first few months, she didn’t come near Leyla at all. And we did therapy and medication and, you know…it was okay. We had rough patches but, it worked." Merlin sighs. “Leyla was…eight, when Freya and I divorced – we thought it would be better in the long run. Sometimes, she’d become so distant. We wouldn’t hear from her for weeks, but other times, she’d come around to the house and stay for days on end, so I don’t actually know if it was better in the long run.” Merlin rocks on his feet. “And then she just died.” 

“Of what?”

“Aneurysm.”

Arthur fights against wanting to wrap his arm around Merlin. “Is that why you came back here?”

“Yeah, fresh start.”

“Maybe not completely fresh,” he says wryly.

“Different enough. I missed you. Not in that relationship way but just your presence.” Merlin chuckles softly more to himself than to Arthur. “I did not miss your cold feet.” Arthur smiles at that.

“Your mother told you about what happened to me.”

“Yeah. I didn’t tell her about us…she just knew. She said that you deserved someone with all the facts. Are you okay?”

“For the most part.” It’s the truth. He still has dreams. Sometimes he’ll get the sense that someone’s watching him and his hands will start to shake.

“I wish you had told me,” Merlin says, lacing his pinky through Arthur’s on the railing. “You should have told me.”

“I wanted to protect you.”

* * *

**July 2024**

Arthur hears the slam of the door and sinks onto the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

They were meant to be better. Time was supposed to make them better. Older, wiser, time heals all wounds and all that other soppy crap that people say to make you see a light at the end of a dark, dark tunnel.

He wipes a hand across his mouth and closes his eyes, trapping the tear that wants to escape. It can’t escape. Despite what it wants to do, Arthur will not let one tear escape.

“Arthur!” That voice. A rush of footsteps. Gentle knocking on the door. “Arthur, I’m coming in okay?”

 _No not okay._ He doesn’t raise his head. Refuses to open his eyes when Merlin walks in. Bites his tongue to not make a sound.

Merlin sounds soft. Hesitant. “Arthur, look at me please.”

_Not yet._

Arthur hears Merlin sigh, the rustle of movement next to him. He feels the press of Merlin’s body by his side, and the tangle of fingers that claim his own. “Okay. Not yet,” Merlin says quietly.

He spoke out loud. Merlin could hear him. The tears are still there, braced against the inside of his eyelids, just waiting there. Tears - biding their time until they can slip out and run free down his face.

“It won’t be like before.” It sounds like a promise. Similar to their vows.

He clutches Merlin’s fingers harder. “You can’t know that,” he manages. There was a before and after – not a middle oddly enough — so at what point did they tip from one side to the other? “The first time we did this, we didn’t think it would happen to us, but it did.”

There’s resignation as Merlin says his name, an acknowledgement that this didn’t turn out the way that they had planned. “Arthur…”

He raises his head and stares at the door, can’t look at Merlin. Not yet. “And it was so fucking shit. I hated every moment of it.” There’s a little gasp beside him.

Merlin untangles their figures, his mouth downturned. “I don’t regret leaving you.”

Arthur laughs bitterly, looking away. “That makes one of us.”

“You agreed to it. You didn’t fight very hard to keep us together.”

That is not fair. What was he supposed to do? If he pushed Merlin would’ve been lost to him. He cannot be blamed for this because he tried.

He stands up. “Because you wanted it! I didn’t want to separate but you wanted it so I gave it to you and fuck you. You got bored. Can’t you admit that? Everything was moving so fast for you and you didn’t want to wait for me.”

Merlin nods his head sadly. “I was impatient – we got married, tick that box. We had careers, check on another one. We had a home…two in fact, there’s another box ticked. I was running out of things to accomplish. But you never said anything. When we fought, you never…you never put your feelings into the equation...and you kept something big from me. I know you didn't want to worry but we share the burden.”

“I didn’t…they weren’t –“Arthur struggles. “You mattered more.”

“And that’s where we failed because I don’t. Please tell me you can see that? Our happiness does not depend on each other. It depends on ourselves and I am big enough to admit that I forgot that and placed it all onto you.”

He finally turns his head and sees Merlin looking back at him with a tiny frown and sad eyes. “You left.”

“I realised halfway down the street.” Merlin scratches the side of his neck. “I — …shit Arthur, it was like we were married all over again and I just — I always checked out. I just stood in the middle of the footpath and thought, ‘If I keep going…I don’t want to want to wait another fifteen years later for a coffee and a chat about out separate lives.’”

“No,” he says. “Me neither.”

“The question is…do you still want to do this?” Merlin says haltingly. “I’m in if you are. I mean this is the first fight of the relationship. I’ve heard those are the scariest.”

First fight.

And Arthur suddenly sees this from Merlin’s perspective – why Merlin’s throwing himself into the experience. It’s a brand new relationship. They are different people. They suck at communication still, clearly that hasn’t changed but they are both different. Merlin is more settled, filled with less nervous energy. Arthur is…well he doesn’t have that pressure on him anymore – the notion that everyone needs him anymore – he’s not trying to protect Merlin anymore either.

Arthur wipes his face with his sleeve and skims the hem of his shirt with his fingertips. “Alright,” he says, although it’s muffled by his shirt as he pulls it off.

“What are you doing?”

He leans down and unties his shoes. “Make-up sex.”

Merlin laughs. “We’re old!” 

“I’m not even forty-five!” he shouts with indignation. He catches the cheeky grin on Merlin’s face. “Also, I wasn’t aware that there was an age limit.” He waggles his eyebrows and smiles as Merlin starts unbuttoning his shirt.

* * *

**August 2024**

It’s his forty-fourth birthday and he’s supposed to be having dinner with his father and siblings but…

“I’m bringing Merlin.”

His father doesn’t sigh but it is a near thing. “I know.”

“Father, I know you aren’t crazy about him.” Arthur folds his arms across his chest as he leans against the desk of his father’s office. It’s more of a leisure room though, now that Uther’s retired and given the reigns over to Morgana. “And I appreciate your concern, but we were both at fault.”

“How were you?” Uther asks genuinely confused.

Bless his dad. Really. “I shouldn’t have handled the Cedric thing the way I did. I should’ve told him. Instead I shut him out, so what was he supposed to think?”

“He was supposed to trust you,” his father says.

“And I was supposed to trust him,” Arthur counters. “Father, I know that you don’t like him.”

Uther shrugs and says bluntly, “I did - before he broke your heart.”

And Arthur doesn’t know how to make his case until he looks past his father and sees the photo of his mother. “What if it was mum?”

Uther blinks, and a scowl washes over his face. “Arthur, that isn’t the same.”

“But if it was? What if mum didn’t die – what if she left you and then came back all these years later and said she was still in love with you. And you were still in love with her because you never really stopped. You walked around for years with – people normally say there’s like this hole in your heart or a massive space that can only be filled with that person.” He takes a breath seeing his father’s attention affixed on him. “But it’s so much worse because it’s subtle.”

He feels his breath come out harsher and he realises that he’s telling Uther probably more than he needs to know. But what he’s saying is true. The feeling of loss though large at first morphed into something slight and poignant. He wonders if it’s similar to losing a loved one, recalling the statistic that Uther mentioned many, many years ago.

“Arthur?”

“You probably felt it with mum…” he says softly. “It’s like pointing at something that they could only find funny and expecting to hear their laughter but instead of laughter there’s silence. Just you in the middle of the street with your hand outstretched.”

He stops running out of breath; watches as his father stands up. “It’s not a pleasant feeling,” his father concedes placing a hand on his back. “Okay,” his father says, gently rubbing his back. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He lets the tension run out of him and pulls away. 

Uther sits back down and shuffles some papers before looking back up at Arthur. “I’m going to glare at him.”

 _Baby steps then._ Arthur sighs. “If you must.”

* * *

**September 2024**

“Do you worry?” Merlin turns in bed, and lies on the flat of his back. Even though it is pitch black in the room.

They went to the pub. All of them: him, Merlin, Leon, Gwen, Lance, Gwaine, Percy, Morgana, Elena, Elyan and Mithian, even Mordred. And it was awkward at first. Mordred and Morgana kepts glaring at Merlin, Gwaine loudly proclaimed that Merlin had to buy beer for the rest of his life to make up abandoning him whilst Gwen tutted at them all for being mean...but then it got better and they laughed and drank and told stupid stories about their younger selves.

Arthur scratches the back of his knee with the hand free of possessively curling over Merlin’s stomach. “About what?” he murmurs thinking back to Morgana’s icy glare that found its way to Merlin whenever he talked about the life lived without him. He’ll have to beg forgiveness. “Global warming? All the time.” And it’s true. It’s in the back of his mind. Reduce, reuse, recycle. Turn the switch of at the power point. Carpool… he feels Merlin poke his arm.

“Arthur?”                                                                   

Arthur shakes his head and continues. “Sorry, I worry about power- crazed TV authorities trying to raise the _Teletubbies_ from their colourful graves every second Sunday.” He waits for a huff of laughter but it never comes.

Merlin says. “Us.”

“I’m learning not to,” he responds honestly.

“Oh.” He thinks that’s the end of the discussion, but Merlin turns his head a little. “Arthur?”

“Yes, Merlin?”

“Do you really worry about the _Teletubbies_?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I can’t figure out if they’re better or worse than _In The Night Garden_.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve never seen _In The Night Garden_?”

He feels Merlin shake his head – the movement jiggling the pillow under his head. “I tried to raise her on _Postman Pat_ and _Banana’s in Pyjamas_.”

“Good for you. Gwaine made me babysit the twins.” He shudders thinking back to the torture the twins inflicted on him when he was called to baby sit. He recalls what looked like a fucked up gingerbread man with three little poops on its head (and one as a tail), and some blue thing called _Iggle Piggle_ , which looked edible for some reason – it might be because of the vivid blue, but he’s not entirely sure. “They wouldn’t watch anything else. Did you know they bastardised B1 and B2”

“No, what are you talking about?”

“They CGI’d them,” he mutters, still especially angry about that particular fact.

Merlin bolts up in outrage. “Is nothing sacred anymore?”

Sleepily he pushes Merlin down, and tucks his head down on Merlin’s shoulder. “No.”

Merlin huffs, the breath ghosting over Arthur’s hair. “Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“No going to bed angry.”

“What?”

“If we want this to work, I don’t think we can go to bed angry.”

“Yeah, Gwen and Lance have that rule – their counsellor recommended it years ago. Clearly, we saw the wrong person.”

“They were having problems?”

He doesn’t know how much Merlin knows – how much Gwen is willing to be disclosed, but he’s come to realise that there are no real barriers to information in their group unless it is prefaced with don’t tell anyone. “They separated for a while. He had to pick between wanting kids and wanting Gwen.” He traces a line down Merlin’s skin, from ribcage to hip.

“He chose Gwen.” He feels Merlin curl down a little, the words whispered, and drenched in a shame that he thought they’d manage to leave behind.

In the dark, Arthur moves reaches up blindly to draw Merlin into a kiss. His own words aren’t words of reproach. They’re just a simple statement because it’s Lance and Gwen and he’ll always believe that they are goddamn soulmates. “As if he’d do anything else.”

* * *

**February 2025**

“Arthur!”

“Marcus?” He laughs pulling Marcus into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to win you back.” Arthur quickly pulls back taking in the earnest expression on Marcus’ face.

“You what?”

Marcus huffs; abashed as he looks down, and scuffs his shoe over the footpath. “You heard me.”

“Marcus…” His heart stutters because he doesn’t want to hurt his friend. He’s trying to think of the kindest way to put ‘I’m unavailable’ when he manages to hold Marcus’s stare. Marcus’s mouth curls, and then he’s grinning like a madman, a hand over his mouth to muffle what is definitely laughter. “Oh you arsehole!”

“It’s asshole,” Marcus corrects. “Did you like the whole ‘aww shucks’ thing?” He laughs as Arthur hits him. “I’m here on holiday – not here to win you over, just wanted to fit in a visit with my platonic life bro.”

“You are never letting that go.”

“I like it.” He smiles and looks up at the bookstore sign. “I remember you telling me to check this place out. Good thing you did - would’ve had to call you otherwise.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Hotel. I’m here for a week and then off to Japan. You got time for cake?”

“I thought you were trying to cut out sugar.”

“I was but then I thought fuck it. Life’s meant to be sweet.” So fucking cheesy.

Together they make their way to a small café, Arthur grabbing a table by the window and Marcus, face pressed against the display cases no doubt drooling. When Marcus comes back with a plate of cheesecake in one hand and a plate of carrot cake in the other, Arthur snorts. “Hey, you shut up!” Marcus laughs. “We’re sharing…I wanted both, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot.”

“But you are an idiot.”

“Bite me asshole.” Marcus takes a bit of the cheesecake. “So…when am I gonna meet him?”

“Who?”

“The guy who’s got you doing that goofy grin.”

He stuffs a piece of cheesecake in his mouth and mumbles, “I’m sort of seeing Merlin.”

Marcus’ fork clatters against the plate. “You’re ex-husband?” He blows a breath out and slumps in his chair. “Shit, man, that’s like soulmate-ish right there.”

He’s not that idealistic anymore so he laughs. “I don’t know about that – pretty crappy way of getting together.”

“Maybe it’s as simple as you weren’t ready then, but you’re ready now.”

“Yeah maybe.”

Marcus takes a sip of his coffee. “So you never answered my question. Meeting? Will you? Won’t you? I need to vet this guy.”

“Marcus,” he sighs. Ex’s aren’t meant to meet each other, isn’t that the rule?

“Need to brief him on any weird habits you picked up after you were together…like that thing you do with the shoes!”

“You mean clean them?” Arthur asks.

Marcus splutters at him, waving his hands around in the air. “In the washing machine!”

“Well how else are you supposed to clean them?”

“Not like that.”

“Eat your cake.”

But Marcus could never drop a thread of conversation if it wasn’t finished. “So Merlin?” He’s watching intently, as Arthur checks his messages feeling the vibration in his pocket. He taps out a reply and puts the phone face down on the table.

“He’s actually at the shops. So a few minutes.” He sees the grin on Marcus face, and sternly points his fork in his direction. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

“That’s true.”  His warning is going to be ignored, he just knows it. “Don’t be intimidating.”

“I’m always nice.”

“Marcus, I’m serious.”

“Arthur, he’s a grown man.” For now the topic of Merlin is dropped. Marcus asks about work, and the family, “How’s Uther?”

Arthur shrugs, switching plates and taking a forkful of carrot cake. “You know, older, crotchety-“

“Popping blue pills?”

 _Jesus, no._ He chokes and Marcus leans around and gives him a few whacks on his back. “Oh my god, no! Shut the fuck up right now. You are banned from speaking.”

Uther has no inclinations towards dating – he hasn’t for years. Arthur asked about it and Uther had just looked at a picture of Igraine and said: _Your mother was it for me. I tried to find something similar, but it didn’t feel right. That’s okay._

“Alright, alright.” Marcus concedes with a wave of his fork.

With his breathing back to normal he looks up and sees Merlin’s confused face. “Merlin’s here,” he says warningly standing up and taking some of the groceries from Merlin’s arms. 

“Merlin, Marcus,” he introduces watching them shake hands. 

“Hey man, so Arthur clearly has a thing for names beginning with M.”

“Marcus.” 

Marcus blinks innocently back at him. “What? Just an observation.”

Merlin looks between the two of them, his smile fast becoming confused. “How do you two know each other?”

“We were together.” He can feel Merlin stare at him so he keeps his explanations brief. “Met here and was together for a few years, realised we were better off as friends.”

“Yep pretty much.” Marcus says, kicking out a chair and tugging Merlin into it. Merlin looks all sorts of perturbed, not that Arthur can blame, him. Marcus can be a bit much. Uneasily, Arthur sinks into his chair, Merlin’s hand instantly finding him and clutching tightly. “Listen here Merlin, you break his heart I will fly back here and slice you up with my katana…once I get one…hence Japan...”

Arthur face-palms.

* * *

**July 2025**

The incessant beeping doesn’t seem to be disappearing any time soon. He pushes his head under the pillow, pressing it over his hears and grumbling. “Turn it off.”

Lips press against the skin of Arthur’s shoulder and barely audible words filter through the cotton fuzzy pillow into his ears. “Come on, grumpy.” There’s a slap to his back. “We gotta get up now if we want to make it on time.”

It takes him a while to realise what they’ve got to get going for and then another thirty seconds to realise what ungodly hour Merlin’s gotten him up at. He pushes the pillow away and turns his head seeing Merlin sitting up. “Five more minutes,” Arthur croaks.

Merlin shakes his head. “Not a chance.”

Arthur snags his waist and kisses the top of his thigh. “Lie down. Five minutes, I promise, and then we can get up,” he tries again.

Merlin groans and scoots down. “That’s cheating.”

 _Win!_ Before Merlin can argue, Arthur pulls the covers up over their heads and buries his face in Merlin’s side. “You’re making me get up at four-thirty of course I’m bloody cheating.”

“We don’t have to go, if you really don’t want to.”

Arthur sighs, running his hand over Merlin’s stomach. Muscles flutter under his touch. “No, I need proof that you aren’t a giraffe on roller-skates.”

Merlin scoffs. “That’s only at my worst.”

“Sometimes I think you’re vertically challenged.” The air is becoming thick and muggy. Arthur sticks his hand out and creates a little window, cold immediately rushing in only to be consumed by their mouths.

“That means you’re short, not clumsy.”

 “Whatever...four-thirty, Merlin.”

“All right, get up.” A lamp switches on. Suddenly there’s cold air everywhere like little tiny hands grabbing the hair on his body and pulling so goosebumps appear.

He groans and buries his head again under his pillow and then feels a whisper of skin across his left calf. The whisper grows into a full grasp, an insistent pressure that grows bolder as he finds himself dragged quickly across the bed.

“Hey! Merlin!” He can feel the exact moment that his body leaves the bed. “What the—ouch!” He looks up from the floor, still covered in Merlin’s bed covers, to see Merlin cheekily grinning at him. Unvoiced laughter is clear in his eyes. “You suck,” Arthur pouts. The floor his cold and hard, and his back is now sore. And they’re going surfing. Because apparently, Merlin surfs. He flops back onto the floor, ignoring the pain that radiates from the back of his skull as it meets the floorboards.

“Only if you’re lucky. Shower, I’ll put on the coffee.” Footsteps grow fainter, the sound finally disappearing.

When he clomps downstairs, freshly showered and fully dressed he sees Merlin and Leyla talking over the counter both nursing cups of coffee. “Shower’s free. Your turn.”

“Kind enough to leave me hot water?” There’s a sneaky look and wink to Leyla who runs a hand through her dark hair and rubs her eyes.

“Four-thirty Merlin.”

Merlin doesn’t glare at him. Instead he goes up, leaving Leyla nodding perilously close to her coffee cup and Arthur shuffling to his own cup.

“What are you doing up?”

“Thought I’d see you off,” Leyla yawns.

“That’s kind of you, but you can head back to bed. You look half dead.”

“I might when dad comes down.”

“You alright love?” he says frowning and resting his forearms on the counter. “We don’t have to go away?” She shakes her head rapidly, eyes widening with horror at his offer. “Okay! I take it back. You aren’t going to get yourself into any trouble, are you? I know that we’ll be gone for a week but…Hunith will be here.”

“I’m a responsible young lady,” she says primly, scratching the birdnest of hair on her head.

He smirks. “I can see that.” He hears Merlin come into the kitchen, feels the brush of a hand against his back as Merlin reaches for the slices of bread.

“Thanks for the hot water.” Merlin pops a few pieces of bread into the toaster.

“Yeah, yeah – tell your daughter that she can go back to bed. It’s the weekend, and she’s supposed to be sleeping in. Not awake and waiting to say goodbye to her father and his friend who are going on surf trip.”

“Boyfriend…well partner – boyfriend sounds a bit childish.” Merlin startles a little as the toast pops up, picking each slice out gingerly by the tips of his fingers, and slathering butter over them. “If you’re interested, fiancé - hopefully husband.”

Arthur would worry – he’s not sure that he ever wants to get married again - except the words aren’t loaded with any hidden (or in this case, not so hidden) meaning. Merlin turns around and offers Arthur a nervous smile. “No rush…or pressure!” he adds quickly. “I just wanted you to know where I stand.”

He hears Leyla muttering under her breath about Merlin being ‘so flipping obvious’ and fights back the grin. She yawns and hops off of her stool. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you when you get back. Don’t die dad, and watch out for Arthur.” She comes over to him after hugging Merlin and wraps her hands around his waist. “I’ve become rather fond of you.”

Arthur hugs her tightly. “And I you. Get some rest.” When she disappears he turns to Merlin who finishes the last of his toast and slides the plate over to him. He hasn’t responded to Merlin’s declaration yet and Merlin hasn’t pressed him for a response.

“I’m going to do a quick check before we head out. Eat that,” Merlin demands happily before walking out of the kitchen.

He eats the toast quickly and waits by the door. Merlin appears with a bag in his hand. “Ready for this?”

Arthur nods his head. “I can’t wait to see you fall into the water."

“I can surf – it wounds me that you don’t believe me,” Merlin pouts.

“You showed no affinity for sports when we were children – excuse me for be sceptical,” he retorts as they walk out to the car. He watches Merlin open one of the doors and throw his bag in.

“Merlin,” he says, folding his arms on the top of the car. Merlin shuts the door looking at Arthur. “We’re you serious – back in the kitchen?”

Merlin nods once, his eye flicking between Arthur and the top of the car. “I was.” There’s a nervous hitch in Merlin’s voice and Arthur ducks his head down to hide the beginnings of a smile. “What do you think?”

“Okay.” He’s going to drive Merlin a little crazy.

“Okay…” Merlin repeats dubiously. “Okay to which one?”

He shrugs. “Just…okay.” And then he raises his head, a grin fixed on his face. 

Merlin points at him over the top of the car. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” There’s a pout and a poor attempt at Bambi-eyes that would make a weaker man buckle more out of pity than actual guilt. Merlin should never attempt Bambi-eyes. When that does not seem to be getting him anywhere, Merlin sighs in resignation. “That’s mean…but I love you.”

“I know,” he responds, getting into the car leaving Merlin to shake his head in disbelief and mutter about being ‘Han Solo’d’.

* * *

**Somewhere in the distant future**

They meet on a cold, wintery Saturday afternoon in a building filled with bright colours, odd shapes and weird creatures plastered on the wall.

Just outside the main room of the play group, Arthur wanders towards the couch.

Merlin, who is in black trousers and a blue polo shirt, already sits on the left-hand side taking to a little boy - his grandson, Oliver. He takes a moment to smile and shifts over, the invitation obvious.

Oliver waves to them, his hands a blur and an indication of his excitement, before wandering away. “Poppa! Grampa! Look at me!” The boy waves at the two men and gets into a fighting stance before going head to head with an imaginary foe. The other children send him odd looks, one even begins to cry and is rushed away by his mother, but Oliver doesn’t notice, content to jab at the air and dodge something that only he can see.

Although Arthur is watching Oliver, he’s not really seeing him because there’s a weight in his pocket that’s been consuming his thoughts for the past few years and finally, he can’t take it anymore.  Eventually he shifts his gaze and turns to Merlin. “I think I’m ready.”

Merlin winces as Oliver’s foot makes an audible thump on the ground. “To leave? You only just got here.”

“I mean the _other_ thing,” he stresses, pulling out the ring box from his pocket.

“What other thing?”  Merlin asks turning his head. The hair on his head has gone completely grey. _I’m a silver fox thank you very much_ , he had told Arthur once and Arthur doesn’t disagree.

Arthur brings the box into Merlin’s eye line with small grin and flips open the lid. Merlin’s hand grabs his own, and he squeezes. “This other thing.”

Their old rings gleam brightly under the fluorescent lights. 

> _“The truth is, things change. They chance in ways we could never predict and we are often rocked to our core. Yet, there’s nothing more beautiful than hearts coming back together...”_
> 
> – _The Better Man Project._

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is...hopefully it's okay - this is the longest piece I've ever written so I feel like you can definitely see where I flagged or lost the will to write haha :P Yes there are things that aren't accurate (creative license?) and the Cedric subplot kind of isn't fleshed out but I made a mistake adding it and by the time I realised it was way too late to get rid of it because it informed the later parts of the story :S Gosh, I hope it's not too bad though... 
> 
> It was more about Arthur's journey anyway - I had read a bunch of articles beforehand about people remarrying their ex-partners and it seemed like such an interesting idea...like is it just time/perspective that makes the second time work around? A lot of people expressed doubt of trying a relationship for the second time so I tried to convey that too. I won't lie, this fic probably verged on melodrama a few times but I do like quite a lot of it lol!
> 
> I think I'm all angst-ed out, hopefully the next thing I write for Merlin will be happier - I need to stop punishing Arthur (poor lad, I don't know why I keep doing this to him). 
> 
> Thanks for reading and everything!


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